


The Past is Present

by SuePokorny



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-23 02:42:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3751381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuePokorny/pseuds/SuePokorny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Musketeers are charged with escorting the Queen on an important journey, they find themselves in the one place Aramis never wanted to see again -- Savoy. For my wonderful beta, Sharlot, who requested an Annamis story. Here it is with a lot of Aramis!whump and a bit of hurt!d'Artagnan thrown in for good measure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sharlot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharlot/gifts).



This story is entirely the fault of my wonderful beta, Sharlot. She put this little plot bunny in my head and I must give her the credit. She doesn’t normally ship anyone, but Anne and Aramis have caught her heart, so this is for her. That said, it isn’t quite the Annamis story she wanted, since I decided I just had to have a bit of Aramis whump to accompany her beloved ship. ☺ Write what you love, right? Takes place sometime after s2e4 “Emilie”.

The Past is Present

 

Chapter 1

Aramis winced as d’Artagnan forcefully hit the ground once again. He bit into his apple, smiling as he chewed, folding his arms across his chest, his dark eyes dancing with mirth. D’Artagnan groaned, flat on his back, as his opponent stalked over and reached out a hand toward him.

“You’ll never beat him like that,” Aramis called from his position of safety under the balcony. He leaned a shoulder against the wooden post to his left. “You have to put your back into it.”

The younger man spit out some dirt from his mouth and glared at the marksman. “My back has been put out enough, thank you.”

Porthos reached down and grabbed the Gascon by his shirt, yanking him upright in a smooth, impressive show of strength.

“Don’t listen to ‘im, lad. You just need to keep your center of gravity lower. Don’t give me a chance to get you off balance.”

“Off balance?” d’Artagnan squeaked. “I wasn’t off balance. You just picked me up and tossed me like I was a sack of potatoes!”

“Careful, d’Artagnan,” Aramis called. “You start speaking of food and you’ll just make him hungry. You know how Porthos gets when he’s hungry.”

D’Artagnan held up his hands, surrendering. “I concede.” He bowed. “I appreciate the lesson.”

Porthos puffed out his chest. “Anytime, whelp.” He looked across the courtyard to his friend who was still smirking as he devoured the fruit. “What about you, ‘Mis? You feel like havin’ a go?”

Aramis returned his grin. “Only if you will accept a challenge of pistols at twenty paces in advance.”

Porthos grin dimmed. “You’d shoot me?”

Aramis pushed off the post and closed the distance between them, slinging the hand not occupied with fruit around the taller man’s shoulders. “I wouldn’t aim to kill, my dear Porthos. I would simply wound you enough to even the odds.”

Porthos thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Fair enough. How ‘bout we just call it a draw and get something to eat?”

Aramis laughed, a deep, infectious sound, and pulled another apple from inside his shirt, tossing it to his friend. “If knowing yourself is true wisdom, my friend, you are the wisest man I know.”

Porthos stared at him for a moment, obviously trying to wrap his head around Aramis’ poetic words. Finally he grinned and shook his head fondly. “I have no idea what that means, but I’m just going to assume it was a compliment and let it go.”

Aramis slapped him on the back, smiling wide. “The most sincerest of compliments, I assure you.”

D’Artagnan approached, brushing himself off, looking at the fruit his two friends were munching on with envy.

Aramis grinned apologetically, nodding his head toward the apple Porthos was happily consuming. “Apologies, d’Artagnan. My charm was only able to procure two of these delectable treats. If you hurry, I’m sure Serge could be coerced into parting with one more of these precious gems.”

The younger man didn’t need more encouragement and darted off to the kitchen just as Athos stepped out of the office at the top of the stairs. He made his way down to the courtyard, a folded piece of parchment in his hand. Both Porthos and Aramis recognized the seal as that of the King.

“We’ve been summoned to the palace,” Athos stated without preamble. 

“We in trouble again?”

Aramis grinned at Porthos’ question. It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if they were. Lately, Louis had been placing the blame for everything that went wrong on the Musketeers. Captain Treville had been relieved of his command – much to the dismay of the men who loyally served under him – and they’d been forced to stand back and watch the King’s new Captain of the Red Guard, the Comte de Rochefort, bask in the light of the King’s favor.

It was sickening to say the least. Aramis had disliked the man the moment they had come upon him and saved him from being lynched by an angry band of villagers. The smug little man had shown his disdain for the Musketeers from the start, and the feeling had been mutual. Knowing Rochefort had been one of Cardinal Richelieu’s agents had immediately placed him on their list of enemies, and he had done little to give them any reason to trust him since.

“We’ve done nothing to draw the King’s ire as far as I know,” Athos responded. “But these days something as simple as a rain shower could earn us Louis’ wrath.”

Aramis looked up into the cloudless sky, squinting into the bright sunshine. “I’d say we’re safe for the moment. Any idea why we’re being summoned?”

“A mission. We are instructed to pack extra provisions for at least a week.” Athos folded the letter and tucked it into his belt. “That is all I know. I suggest we prepare and present ourselves to the King if we want more information.” He looked around the courtyard, frowning. “Where is d’Artagnan? I thought he was sparring with you?”

Porthos nodded his head toward the kitchen as he took a large bit of his apple. “He went to try and talk Serge out of one of these.” They glanced toward the kitchen just in time to see d’Artagnan step out of the building, a pleased look on his face, rubbing a bright red apple on his shirt front, heading for their usual table to relax and enjoy his treat. “Looks like he was successful.”

“Well, tell him to eat fast. We leave in an hour.”

Aramis and Porthos nodded, accepting the order and moved to intercept their young friend before he could get too comfortable.

Mmmmmmmmmmmm

The four Musketeers entered the court and bowed to the King, who remained seated on his throne, Rochefort by his side. The blonde Comte looked down his nose at the soldiers, his contempt obvious, snorting at the looks of mild impudence he received in return.

“Ah, I’m glad you have finally arrived,” Louis welcomed them with a cautious smile. “I have a mission of the utmost importance.” He stood and stepped off the dais, lowering his voice as he came to a halt before Athos. “I know you are privy to the secret my dear sister, the Duchess of Savoy, holds concerning her position within this court.”

Athos nodded, frowning, already concerned about the missive they were about to embark upon. It was not only the thought of Savoy that had his defenses up, the thought of the Duke himself sent a shiver of contempt down his spine. If his immediate reaction was so derisive, he could only imagine what Aramis felt at the mention of the place that still haunted his nightmares.

Louis didn’t wait for an answer, continuing as if the response of the soldiers did not matter. Athos had to admit, it did not.

“I’ve received a letter from the Duchess stating she has urgent news that is vital to France. The problem is she is quite far along in her second pregnancy and has been forbidden by her physicians to travel.”

“You would like us to retrieve this information?” Athos assumed.

Louis sighed. “If only it were so simple.” He turned and motioned for Rochefort to continue. 

“The Duchess will only turn this information over to the King.”

“It would be… unwise for His Majesty to travel to Savoy given the Duke’s disposition toward the Crown,” d’Artagnan offered. The Duke’s disdain for the King had not been a secret, the man showing his disparagement at every opportunity. “We would need half the regiment to assure your safety, Sire.” He looked to Athos who merely nodded in return.

“That is why I have no intention of traveling to that godforsaken place.” Louis didn’t bother to hide his loathing of the Duke. 

“Then what is the solution?” Aramis asked.

“I am.”

The Musketeers looked up as Queen Anne, dressed in a soft, simple dress entered the court. She wore her hair down, golden curls falling against the coarse blue cloak clasped around her shoulders. Athos heard Aramis sigh beside him as she approached, and had to admit she did look lovely. Without all the trappings and grandiose of her royal attire, the Queen was still a breathtakingly beautiful woman.

The four men bowed as Anne strode across the marble floor, stopping next to them, a welcoming smile on her face. She glanced at each of them in turn, her eyes lingering on Aramis a moment longer. Athos didn’t have to turn to know the answering glint in his friend’s dark eyes. While they’d been able to contain the secret of Aramis’ and the Queen’s liaison at the convent from everyone, he had no doubt Porthos and perhaps even d’Artagnan had noticed the covert glances between the two, even though neither had expressed their suspicions aloud. Athos had been thankful for their reticence, affording him the opportunity to remain loyal to one friend while not having to prevaricate to the others.

“Your Majesty,” Aramis stepped forward, his confusion written on his face. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“My wife has volunteered to travel to Savoy under the auspices of being with the Duchess upon the birth of her child.” Louis answered for her. “Though I am not completely comfortable with the arrangement, my Queen has swayed me to her belief that she will be perfectly safe with the four of you by her side.”

Athos swallowed, knowing the idea was dangerous, but he forced his face to remain passive. “Would it not be better for a larger contingency to safeguard the Queen and her attendants?”

“No attendants,” Anne informed him. “I will be your only charge.”

The four Musketeers exchanged looks of surprise.

“I must protest once again, your Majesty.” Rochefort stepped from the dais and approached the Queen, standing between her and the soldiers. “I would feel much more secure if you would allow me and my Red Guard to accompany you on this journey.”

Anne smiled, conciliatory. “I have no fear the Musketeers will be fully capable of assuring my safety.”

“Then it is settled.” Louis took the Queen’s hands in his and leaned close, kissing her on the cheek. “Be safe, my dear. I will await your return.”

Anne bowed her head, smiling as the King turned to leave, Rochefort reluctantly trailing behind. When they were well beyond range, Anne turned to the musketeers.

“I understand the apprehension you must be feeling, but whatever information The Duchess has for the King, I fear is vital to France’s security. My visit would not be construed as anything but sisterly concern, thus not causing rise to undo suspicion.”

Aramis stepped forward and took her hand, kissing it reverently. “We are only concerned for your welfare, Your Majesty. I would not forgive myself if you came to harm.”

Anne smiled demurely, dropping her eyes. “I appreciate that, Aramis. But as I said, I have no fear whilst within your protection.” She looked at at them all, her confidence in their abilities obvious. “I know you will keep me safe.”

Athos sighed, knowing any attempt to talk sense into her was futile. He looked to Aramis, knowing the mission would effect the marksman most of all. Returning to Savoy would be difficult enough, the worry over the Queen’s safety an added weight to that already heavy burden. If Aramis resisted, Athos would find a way to make the Queen realize the enormity of what she asked. There was no way he would force his friend to relive that nightmare, and he knew Porthos and d’Artagnan felt the same. It would not look favorably on them to refuse a royal edict, but he would never forgive himself if he didn’t at least try to keep his friend from such emotional turmoil.

But surprisingly, Aramis nodded his acquiescence immediately and Athos felt a surge of pride for the man’s resilience. It was the true mark of courage to face your fears, and it seemed Aramis was determined to meet his darkest demons straight on. Of course, the beautiful smile Anne had shined upon him could have had a bit to do with the Spaniard’s easy compliance.

“All right,” Athos agreed coolly. “But I must insist you follow our directives in all manners, Your Majesty.”

“Of course,” Anne agreed graciously. “My life is in your hands.”

Athos turned to the other two who had hung back throughout the exchange. “d’Artagnan, see to a carriage for the Queen. Porthos, make sure we have supplies enough.”

“The palace stores are at your disposal,” Anne offered. “But I would prefer to ride rather than be stuck inside a carriage if it’s no bother.” 

Athos paused, surprised. Though he knew the Queen was an excellent horsewoman, he wasn’t sure she would be up to the rigor of such a trip on horseback.

“I believe Your Majesty would be much more comfortable in a coach,” he protested. Not only would she be easier to protect ensconced inside a carriage, there would be less chance of anyone recognizing her if she wasn’t out in plain sight.

“I understand,” Anne said pleasantly. “But I have had such little opportunity to ride since I came to France. It is something I love and would appreciate a chance to do if at all possible.”

Again Athos deferred to Aramis, who shrugged. Resigned, Athos nodded to d’Artagnan and the two Musketeers bowed and hurried out to fulfill their duties, leaving Aramis, Anne and Athos alone.

“With all due respect,” Athos began. “I believe this is a bad idea.”

“I understand your concern, Athos, but it is the only solution I could see having a chance of success. If the information the King’s sister is holding is even half as pertinent as we fear, we cannot delay in its retrieval. I’m afraid there is no other way.”

“But alone?” Aramis still held her hand in his. The fact the Queen had not made an attempt to move away was not lost on the older man. “Would it not be better to travel in caravan? If you don’t want to raise suspicion, traveling as the Queen would be more convincing than riding in secret.”

“The King feared retribution,” Anne shrugged. “With all the malcontents we have seen as of late, he felt it better not to draw too much attention to my journey.”

Athos nodded, agreeing with the strategy. “It would be easier to travel without such a large assemblage. But there is still the matter of your comfort.”

Anne laughed. “While I appreciate your concern, Monsieur, I assure you I am quite capable of surviving without the trappings of the court.”

Aramis grinned as Athos bowed, chagrined. “Of course,” he capitulated. “I know well of Your Majesty’s ability to… adapt to the situation.”

Anne had the grace to blush, but the smile she gave Aramis showed no trace of remorse.

“So,” the marksman said, taking it upon himself to ease the tension their collective memories brought to light. “If we’re all agreed, I would suggest we begin our journey.”

As the Queen preceded them from the court, Athos sighed and rolled his eyes, garnering a grin and a shrug from his comrade. Shaking his head, he followed Aramis out the door, mumbling under his breath, “This should be fun.”

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

The journey was a pleasant one, the Musketeers slowly becoming more comfortable in Anne’s presence as they day wore on. The countryside was beautiful, though, as Athos had warned, the hours in the saddle wore on her, unused to the rigors of riding for so long. The Musketeers stopped every few hours, using various excuses such as resting the horses, confirming their direction, or the need for sustenance, though Anne knew they were stopping to give her rest. Despite the arduous journey, she found herself enjoying the company of the four men and was glad for the opportunity to know them better.

The first day had gone by quickly, laughter at the banter and antics of the four friends keeping her entertained and in good spirits. They’d stopped at an Inn for the evening – at Athos’ insistence – booking two rooms; one for her and one for the Musketeers to share. Despite the anonymity of her dress, Athos insisted one of the men stand guard by her door. Arguing that a guard would draw attention, Aramis had insisted he be tasked with her safety by sleeping in a chair just inside her room. Unable to deny the logic of the argument, Athos had reluctantly agreed, but not before throwing a meaningful glare at his friend who smiled innocently in return.

Anne was glad the older Musketeer hadn’t seen fit to argue the point. She knew it was dangerous for her and Aramis to be together, but throughout the debate and planning for this trip, it was the one thing that had made it worthwhile in her mind. The kiss they’d shared in Emilie of Duras’ camp had shown her the passion they tried to deny was still very much alive between them. Being near each other was risky – their union tantamount to treason, threatening their lives and the life of their son – so they had agreed to keep their distance, their night of passion remaining a beautiful memory. Anne had feared the desire would fade, that her feelings for the handsome Musketeer would wane until all that remained was a deep fondness for what they’d once shared. But that one kiss had dispelled the notion. Her heart had beat wildly in her chest and her breath had caught in her throat as his lips descended on hers. The spark of passion she’d felt all those months ago in the convent had come back full force, and, if it had been possible, she would have offered herself to him again right there and then.

Constance’s interruption had been a curse and a blessing. It had stopped them from getting lost in themselves, saving them from the threat of detection by someone who would not understand. It also gave Anne a confidant who more than recognized the need to find joy when the moment presented itself. Anne was fully aware of her friend’s own clandestine love for another of the King’s Musketeers, and the two women had talked long through the night on many occasions since, commiserating and supporting each other in the knowledge that they were no longer alone in their melancholy. 

The evening at the Inn had been magical. Aramis was a considerate and passionate lover; one of which she had no compare. Her nights with Louis were stale and often awkward and painful, but with Aramis, she was swept away in a warm cloud of devotion, his hands soft and caressing, his teasing lips firm and demanding. She had never in her life felt so loved and fulfilled. She felt as if the rest of the world simply faded away and all that was left was right there in that room. It was a love she never dreamt she would feel, her heart full and her mind empty save for the need to feel him close to her. She knew it was a sin, she knew it was wrong, but she had never experienced something so right; so… complete. It didn’t matter in those moments whether the rest of the world knew of their liaison or not, the sheer bliss chased the fear of discovery away, leaving her replete in her happiness.

Morning had come much too quickly and she had dressed, meeting her escorts downstairs in the Inn’s main room for breakfast. Porthos and d’Artagnan threw sideways glances her way, frowning at their friend who deftly deflected their silent questions with cheerful assurances. Athos didn’t look at her at all, simply avoiding what he knew he could not change. When finally they returned to the road, whatever the others suspected was stowed, and they fell easily into the friendly banter and camaraderie they had shown the previous day.

It was early evening when they came upon a wooded area just near the border of Savoy. Aramis had become quiet, his normal garrulous voice growing still as the trees became more numerous. She noticed the other three taking quick, furtive glances at their friend. The faces wore expressions of concern, which made her tense, but they were obviously directed toward Aramis, not their surroundings.

“Are you all right?”

She was riding behind Porthos and Aramis, alongside d’Artagnan, Athos bringing up the rear of the procession. Porthos’ soft voice carried on the slight breeze, and she detected the note of real worry in his low rumble. Aramis took a deep breath and nodded, his face hidden beneath the lowered brim of his hat. She did not understand their unease, especially since it seemed it was solely focused on Aramis. She made a note to ask him about it, his unusual disquiet beginning to unsettle her. She had seen his heroics first hand and could not understand what could cause such trepidation in a man so courageous.

Peeling off, Porthos nodded to her as he passed, pulling his horse into line with Athos’ behind them. Her eyes stayed on Aramis, studying him as they rode in silence. His normally graceful stance was stiff and rigid in the saddle, a sure sign he was not comfortable and she tensed at the thought. Her own safety momentarily concerned her, but she dismissed the notion, knowing this was something more personal than a soldier’s attention to duty. He seemed scared – unnerved – and she felt a strong pulse of sympathy for his anxiety. It was for her he had agreed to this mission, so she felt responsible for the tension he was displaying now. 

She’d noticed Athos’ reaction at the first mention of Savoy, and she had assumed it was because of the deaths of the Musketeers many years ago. Of course they would all feel the loss, even so many years later. Was it twenty men who were killed then? She couldn’t remember the exact number, as she had been merely a child upon her arrival in Paris and new to the language and customs. She had been aware of the loss of soldiers, Louis having ranted about the inconvenience of replacing so many men at once. At the time she had considered his displeasure crude, wondering of the many men who had lost their lives that tragic day. But it had been quickly dismissed, the Musketeers buried and forgotten. She had little to do with the business of the Court back then and had only understood that Cardinal Richelieu had taken care of the matter to the King’s satisfaction.

Could Aramis have been close to someone who had perished here? She shuddered at the thought of losing someone so senselessly. She had overheard the Cardinal inform the King that there had been no survivors, so she did not understand how it could affect Aramis any more than the others. 

Before she could contemplate further, a shot rang out in the silence and Aramis grunted in pain, twisting on his horse as the animal reared in reaction. Someone yelled to move to the trees and she felt her reigns pulled from her hands as d’Artagnan turned his horse, pulling hers along behind to the cover of the forest. She heard someone – Porthos – call out Aramis’ name, her heart stopping in her chest until she heard the familiar voice call back. 

Her mind was whirling as she held on to the pommel of her saddle, the horse came to an abrupt halt near the forest edge and she gasped, her breath ragged as her body shook with fear. She could hear the sounds of swords clanging against each other and knew the Musketeers were battling to keep her safe. She blinked, her eyes suddenly filled with tears, looking around as d’Artagnan leaped from his horse, drawing his pistol from his belt, aiming and firing at an attacker in one fluid movement. She looked around frantically, her eyes searching for…

Aramis! He was still on his horse, his pistol out, aimed at another man rushing toward the edge of the trees where she and d’Artagnan had taken cover. She jumped at the loud blast of the weapon, shuddering as the man screamed and fell, the ball piercing through his torso in an ugly spray of blood. She cringed, quickly turning to Aramis who was reigning his horse close to hers. 

There was a dark stain on his right leg, and as he drew near, she could see his face was pale, his eyes pinched in pain.

“Are you unharmed?” he called, frantic.

She nodded, swallowing her fear, knowing she needed to keep her wits about her if she was to be anything but a hindrance. Aramis smiled at her and she felt herself calm. She trusted him with her life. She knew he would not let her down.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

D’Artagnan heard the report of the musket and saw Aramis flinch in pain as the ball hit. His first instinct was to charge forward in defense of his brother, but before he could react, he heard Athos’ command to move to the tree line. He grabbed the reins of Anne’s horse, ripping the leather from her hands, and spurred their mounts toward the cover of the forest edge. As soon as they passed the first line of trees, he dropped the reins, slid from his horse and pulled his pistol, firing at one of the bandits who had followed them from the road. 

Another man was charging toward them, Aramis, still mounted, followed, his pistol aimed at the man’s back. He fired, his aim accurate as always. The bandit fell in a spray of blood as the ball hit dead center. He heard the Queen gasp, but didn’t have time to check on her as he noticed more men advancing through the trees behind them. As the first ones engaged, d’Artagnan found himself under attack from two fronts. He pulled his main gauche and deflected the first thrust, turning to Aramis with a shout.

“Get her out of here!”

He didn’t wait to see if his friend heard, nearly losing his footing as he backed away from another swing. He heard more shouting followed by the clang of swords directly behind, realizing Aramis had dropped to the ground and engaged, unable to escape the sheer number of men coming at them. He could still hear the sounds of fighting back on the road, relieved that Porthos and Athos still lived despite being outnumbered.

A familiar cry of pain had him spinning, narrowly avoiding another thrust, alarmed to see Aramis on his knees, three men rushing him, swords drawn. D’Artagnan knew his friend had been hit by the first shot fired, and he doubled his efforts, running his sword through one on his attackers, knowing he needed to go to Aramis’ aid before he was completely overwhelmed. 

“Drop the swords!” a rough voice called and d’Artagnan turned to see a brute of a man – easily the size of Porthos – holding a pistol to the Queen’s head. He had her arm in his meaty hand and she looked to be in pain from the force of his grip.

Aramis immediately complied, and was roughly slammed with the butt of a pistol from behind. The marksman dropped to the ground, unmoving, causing the Queen to cry out. The bandit flipped the weapon and pointed the barrel at the unconscious man, giving d’Artagnan a sneer.

“He said drop the sword.”

D’Artagnan seethed, but did as he was told. He could still hear the clash of swords as Athos and Porthos continued to battle, but they were too far to help. Reluctantly he raised his hands, leveling a glare at the man who held the Queen in his grasp.

“Unhand her,” d’Artagnan ordered.

The brute laughed, showing his blackened teeth. “You ain’t in no position to be giving orders, Musketeer.” Despite his words, he released Anne’s arm, grabbing the reigns of her horse and motioning toward the prone form of Aramis, lying deathly still on the ground. 

“Bring ‘im if he still lives. Bring both of ‘em. They may be useful.”

Before d’Artagnan could ask where they were being taken, a sharp pain flared in his head and he fell into darkness.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Athos stepped away from his opponent, using the man’s momentum to slash at his arm with his dagger. The bandit dropped his weapon, screaming in pain and the Musketeer took the opportunity to run his sword through the man’s torso. Pulling back he looked around in time to see Porthos dispatch his own opponent, leaving a slew of bodies scattered on the road.

A few men were running back into the cover of trees in retreat, and the two soldiers came together, back to back, their eyes scanning the tree line, searching for any other signs of attack. Convinced they were safe, Athos sighed, sheathing his sword and looking around, a frown marring his features.

“Porthos,” he intoned, knowing there was no need to voice his concern.

Porthos shook his head. “I don’t know.” He pointed to the tree line on the far side of the road. “They were headed that way.” With a concerned glance at his friend, he took off in the indicated direction, Athos on his heels. As they approached the edge of the forest, Porthos stopped, his eyes drawn to the two swords lying in the patchy grass. He crouched down and picked up a rapier, running his hand over the familiar blade. The swirled basket of the hand guard was distinctive and instantly recognizable. “It’s Aramis’.”

Athos leaned down and retrieved the other rapier, sighing as he recognized the simpler, yet still familiar design of d’Artagnan’s blade. He looked up, squinting, his eyes peering through the dense trees.

“Perhaps they simply moved further into the forest to ensure the Queen’s safety.”

Porthos shook his head, his gaze scanning the ground around them. “Uh uh.” He pointed at the overturned sod and flattened grass in the area. “There were more than just the three of ‘em here. I’d say at least four or five horses and as many men.” He stood, nodding his head to a stain of what could only be blood, dark on the grass directly in front of them. “Aramis was hit, he was bleeding.” He didn’t need to elaborate, his voice showing his concern at the fate of their friends and their charge.

“So they didn’t run, they were taken.” Athos stated the obvious. “But by whom? This was a planned assault. Who could have known we would be here?”

Porthos shrugged. “The only other people who knew were the King and Rochefort.”

“And the Duchess. Louis would’ve sent word back to her to expect us.”

“I thought the Duchess was working for us. Why would she set up an ambush when we were coming to help her?”

Athos shook his head, unnerved. “I don’t know. Perhaps the Duke learned of her subterfuge.”

Porthos snorted derisively. “And we already know he has no problem killing Musketeers. But the man would have to be mad to harm the Queen. What would he have to gain?”

“I have no idea.” 

“You think the Duke knows about Aramis?”

“You mean that he survived the attack six years ago?”

Porthos nodded, his face pinched in concern. “What if he figures out it was Aramis who gave him that scar on his back?”

Athos stilled, his expression unreadable. “If the Duke of Savoy is behind this, let’s hope he doesn’t find out.” He turned and clapped a hand on Porthos arm as he headed back to the road and their horses. “We can’t track them through the forest. I suggest we see if we can learn anything from the bodies then continue to Savoy and speak to the Duke himself.”

Porthos sighed and began to trudge after his friend. “Fine. But if I so much as get a hint that he had something to do with this, I can’t promise not to wring his neck.”

Athos nodded solemnly. “If he is involved, I won’t promise to hold you back.”

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

D’Artagnan awoke with a start. The sudden throb of pain behind his eyes cautioned him to remain still, his breath coming in short gasps as he fought to keep his stomach. Breathing through his nose, he raised a hand to the back of his head, tenderly probing the spot where the ache was most intense. Pulling his hand away, he opened his eyes, groaning to find a smudge of dark blood staining his fingers.

“d’Artagnan?”

Turning his head, he squinted through the low light, his breath catching as he saw the other two occupants of the room. Scrambling across the floor, his own pain forgotten, he knelt at Aramis’ side, one hand hovering over the man’s still form. The older Musketeer lay on the cold stone floor, eyes closed, his head pillowed in the Queen’s lap. The folds of her dress were marked with dried blood, her trembling hands slowly stroking through Aramis’ dark curls. 

D’Artagnan looked up and met her frightened eyes.

“Are you all right, Your Majesty?”

She nodded, the motion stiff and jerky, hastily wiping at a tear that tracked down her cheek. From the red-rimmed eyes and the hitch of her staccato breathing, he determined it was not the first.

D’Artagnan placed a hand on her arm, squeezing gently, trying to reassure her before turning his attention to Aramis. The marksman was unconscious, a trail of dried blood smeared on the left side of his face. D’Artagnan gently turned Aramis’ head, noting the bruise forming along his temple where the bandit had struck him with the butt of the pistol. He knew his friend had a hard head, but the unresponsiveness of the normally spirited man was disconcerting, and he silently prayed for any reaction as he brushed his fingers across the wound.

Sighing at the lack of movement, he turned his attention to Aramis’ leg. He’d seen the ball hit, knowing that even from such a distance, the shot would do damage. There was a strip of cloth wrapped around the bloody wound, the make-shift bandage soaked through.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” Anne said, her voice shaking. “It wouldn’t stop bleeding.”

She was wedged up against the wall, sitting at an angle, her back against a small wooden chest. Her hair was in disarray, stray curls falling about her face and shoulders. With her legs folded up under her body, she looked like a little girl hiding from her governess. Just seeing the normally regal and proper Queen sitting, frightened, on the hard floor like this was enough to evoke d’Artagnan’s protective nature. Witnessing the obvious distress in her eyes for what she believed was a lack of attentiveness for the wounded Musketeer, nearly broke his heart.

“You did exactly what you should have,” he assured her. “Aramis would be proud.”

She returned his smile with a tremulous one of her own, her eyes tracking back to the marksman’s lax features. 

“Has he woken at all?” d’Artagnan asked, trying to distract her as he unwound the dressing from the wounded leg.

“No,” she whispered, her hand carding through the hair near his wound. “He hasn’t moved at all.”

The anguish in her voice was palpable, and d’Artagnan couldn’t help but wonder if it was more than her fear of their situation that was causing her distress. He’d seen how Aramis and the Queen looked at each other when they thought no one else was paying them any mind, but he couldn’t bring himself to delve into the meaning of those looks. Despite the marksman’s reputation, d’Artagnan couldn’t believe he would be so stupid as to attempt to seduce the Queen.

He tossed the wrapping aside and used his fingers to widen the hole in Aramis’ breeches. The wound was still bleeding sluggishly, and d’Artagnan cringed at the hole left by the lead ball in Aramis’ leg. He pressed down on the wound, knowing it would hurt like hell if Aramis was awake, but aware it was necessary to stop the bleeding. It was obvious the ball was still embedded in the muscle, the feel of the hard lump against his palm making him swallow hard. It would have to be removed before infection could take hold or Aramis ran the risk of losing his leg – or worse – his life. 

After a few moments, the bleeding had stopped and d’Artagnan looked around for something to bind the wound with. Anne quickly reached under her skirt and ripped off a piece of her undergarment, handing it to him with an embarrassed shrug. D’Artagnan quickly realized the soiled bandage was another strip from her dress and looked to her, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

“It’s the only thing I had.”

D’Artagnan smiled. “Hold on.” He struggled to his feet, breathing deeply against the sudden vertigo at the change in position. When the gray dots cleared from the edges of his vision, he made his way to the small sleeping pallet on the other side of the room and yanked the blanket back, pleased to see the clean sheet beneath. There was little furniture in the room, only the bed, the chest and a rickety looking wooden chair under a boarded up window on the far side of the room. Scant light shone through the cracks in the boards, allowing enough illumination from the waning daylight into the room for them to see without needing a candle or torch.

He pulled the threadbare sheet from the thin mattress and returned to his friend, ripping a large strip from the material. He folded the section of the Queen’s garment into a small square and laid it over the wound, then wound the strip of sheet tightly around Aramis’ leg. As he tightened the bandage to tie it off, the wounded man groaned and his breathing began to come in pained gasps, his head moving to and fro on the Queen’s lap.

“Aramis?” d’Artagnan leaned over his friend, placing a hand on Aramis’ pale cheek. He tapped it lightly a few times, holding his breath as the dark eyes fluttered open.

“d’Artan’n?”

“Eloquent as always.” The younger man smiled. “How are you feeling?”

Aramis closed his eyes, his forehead wrinkling as he tried to assess himself. “I’ve been better,” he finally relented. He winced, a hand moving down to grasp at his thigh, just above the wound. “I remember getting shot.”

D’Artagnan nodded. “There were about twenty of them. Ten up on the road and more down by the forest.”

Aramis’ eyes flew open and he looked around, frantic, relaxing the moment his eyes found Anne’s above him.

“Are you all right?”

She smiled fondly. “Yes, Aramis. Once again you’ve protected me from harm.” She glanced at his leg as she ran a hand through the hair near his temple. “And at a high cost to yourself.”

Aramis smiled, his eyelids drooping as his body sagged in relief. “A small price to pay for your safety, Your Majesty.” 

He was quiet for a few moments, his eyes closed, his face lax, his chest moving in slow even breaths. D’Artagnan dropped back onto his haunches, running a hand around the back of his neck to ease the ache that had settled there. He was sure Aramis had dropped back into sleep, so was surprised when he looked up to see the marksman watching him, his eyes dark with worry.

“Are you all right?” He repeated his earlier question to the younger man.

D’Artagnan nodded. “Just a headache. I’m fine.”

Aramis scoffed a laugh, then winced as his own head reminded him he had suffered a blow as well.

D’Artagnan chuckled. “Maybe neither of us are fine, but at least I’m upright.”

Aramis held out a hand. “You know I can’t stand being a step behind. Help me up.”

D’Artagnan frowned, but took his friend’s arm despite his reservations. “I don’t think you should try to stand, Aramis. You still have a ball in your leg.”

With d’Artagnan’s aid, Aramis pulled himself up with a groan. He shifted until he was sitting with his back to the wall, one hand grasping his leg, the other holding tightly to d’Artagnan’s, his head low as he panted through the pain. d’Artagnan exchanged a worried glance with Anne, both of them gripping the wounded man’s arm in support.

“Perhaps you are right, my friend,” Aramis finally gasped out, letting his head fall back to the wall behind him. “I doubt I will be able to walk, let alone run.” He opened his eyes and rolled them toward d’Artagnan. “That leaves it to you to find a way out of here and go for help.”

D’Artagnan frowned. “I’m not leaving you here like this,” he argued. He glanced at the Queen, noting the alarm on her face. “I can’t leave either of you unprotected.”

Aramis nodded, releasing his leg and patting d’Artagnan’s arm appreciatively. “You must, d’Artagnan. We have no idea who or why we were taken. Though it is obvious the threat is to the Queen and it is our duty to save her.”

“Yes, but –“

“I can’t walk, but I can fight. I will not allow harm to come to her.” He looked back to Anne, his sincerity shining in his eyes. The Queen smiled, blushing at the loyalty shown to her by her Musketeer. “But we need help,” he continued, confident. “Athos and Porthos are out there, no doubt searching for us. You must find them. I fear we will not survive otherwise.”

D’Artagnan took a deep breath, pushing it out through his nose in frustration. He knew Aramis was right. Whoever had attacked them didn’t kill them outright, so it was apparent they needed them – or at least the Queen – for some reason. 

“We’re not even sure they know who they have.”

Aramis chuckled. ”They know. They were lying in wait. Somehow they were aware of the Queen’s visit and they were ready for us.” He looked at Anne, apologetic. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty. We should have been more vigilant.”

Anne shook her head. “You couldn’t have known.” She looked up to include d’Artagnan. “None of you could have. My visit was supposed to be in secret. Few people knew. I have no idea how word would have traveled so quickly.”

“Our society is a maze of intrigue,” Aramis said cryptically, his voice beginning to falter as his strength waned. “The Court of the King is no different.”

“You think someone close to the King betrayed the Queen?” d’Artagnan asked, startled.

Aramis shrugged. “Perhaps. Or the Duchess is not as loyal as her brother believes.”

Anne was shaking her head. “No. I cannot believe Christine would ever betray Louis or knowingly put my life in danger. She is as loyal to France and her brother as you or I.”

“It is possible she did not betray us knowingly,” d’Artagnan stated. 

“You believe Victor is behind this?” Anne asked. She looked from d’Artagnan to Aramis, who shrugged apologetically.

“It would not be the first time he has used force against the King’s guard.”

Before Anne could respond, Aramis shifted and let out a moan, his eyes squeezed tight, his brow furrowed in discomfort.

“Easy,” d’Artagnan moved his hand to his friend’s neck, squeezing it to anchor the marksman against the pain. “Just breathe, Aramis.”

Aramis managed a nod, pulling air in through his nose and releasing it in a long stream. As he slowly brought himself back under control, he was aware of the Queen’s hand on his cheek. He opened his eyes and looked at her, gracing her with a shaking grin. “I’m fine,” he assured her. He reached up and took her hand, softly kissing it as he lowered it to his chest, holding it near his heart.

“You’re far from fine,” d’Artagnan pointed out. “We need to get that ball out of your leg.”

Aramis chuckled and leaned back again, a fine sheen of sweat appearing on his forehead. “Unless you have a surgeon stashed in your belt, my young friend, that doesn’t seem likely at the moment.”

D’Artagnan sighed in frustration. “Well we have to do something. We can’t just sit around and wait for them to come back.”

Aramis grinned knowingly. “Which is why you must escape.”

The young Musketeer reluctantly nodded in agreement. “Any idea how?”

Aramis tilted his chin toward the boarded up window. “That seems to be the only alternative to the door.”

D’Artagnan quickly moved to the window, peering out between the slats, noting the barren countryside beyond. They were high above the ground – probably on a second or third level – and the young Gascon wasn’t entirely sure he would survive the fall to the ground even if he could loosen the boards from the window.

He pulled against one of the slats, surprised when it moved with ease. Either their captors were very confident of their outside security, or they had woefully underestimated the resiliency of the prisoners. Perhaps they figured neither of the Musketeers was in any condition to escape after they’d been knocked unconscious. Despite being a formidable opponent, Aramis’ leg wound made him less of a threat, but d’Artagnan was not injured enough to keep him from attempting escape. He would never forgive himself if the Queen or Aramis came to harm in his absence, but he knew his friend was right about it being their best option.

He shuffled back across the room and dropped down to a knee beside his wounded friend.

“I can see a lot of open ground beyond these walls,” he informed them. “It’s a big drop, but I think I can manage it.”

Aramis smiled, a hint of pride in his eyes. “How long until dark?”

D’Artagnan had no idea how long he’d been unconscious. He looked to Anne for an answer.

“You were both out for some time,” she explained. “A few hours at least.”

Aramis swallowed as he calculated in his head. “That would mean there is less than an hour before sunset.” He looked back to d’Artagnan, who nodded in agreement. “As soon as darkness falls, you must go,” he instructed. “We have no idea when they will return, but I assume they have orders not to harm the Queen since she has been treated well so far. They will probably bring her something to eat or drink soon. We should both make them assume we are still incapacitated.” He chuckled as d’Artagnan raised a brow and looked at him pointedly. “In my case it shouldn’t be much of an act.”

Just then they heard footsteps echoing in the hallway outside the door. 

D’Artagnan scurried back across the room and leaned back against the wall, trying to look as pitiful as possible. Aramis groaned as he lowered himself back down to lay his head in the Queen’s lap, just as a key rattled in the lock and the heavy door swung open.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Athos and Porthos were shown to the main room of the Duke’s palace and told the Duchess would be with them shortly. Looking around at the opulence of the room, Porthos couldn’t help but snort in derision at the audacity of the rich.

“You’d think they were the King an’ Queen themselves,” he whispered to Athos.

“The Duchess is the King’s sister,” the older Musketeer reminded him. “I’m sure she is accustomed to a certain way of life.”

Porthos just grunted in response.

The doors on the far side of the room opened and the Duchess of Savoy entered. Despite being heavily pregnant, the woman still carried herself with the grace and elegance becoming her station. She approached the two Musketeers, her eyes darting around, a look of concern on her face.

“Welcome to Savoy, messieurs. I trust your journey was pleasant?”

They bowed to the Duchess before responding.

“I’m afraid not, Your Grace. We were set upon by bandits just beyond the border. I’m afraid the Queen and two of our men were abducted.”

The Duchess held a hand to her chest, her eyes wide, stricken. “That is most distressing. Have you any idea who may have done something so unspeakable?”

Athos shook his head. “We were attacked without provocation. We were vastly outnumbered and the Queen was taken as we fought to protect her.”

“It seems your protection has been found wanting.”

The two men turned to see the Duke enter through the doors behind them. He pulled off his cloak and tossed it carelessly across one of the gilded chairs near the door before striding to his wife and kissing her cheek. 

“Victor,” she admonished, tilting her face to his lips. “Please don’t be rude to our guests.”

The Duke sighed but turned to the Musketeers, his hands help out in entreaty. “My apologies.”

Athos tilted his head in acceptance, even though it was obvious the Duke’s word were merely to placate his wife and not to be taken as a serious gesture of remorse.

“You said these bandits abducted the Queen,” the Duchess ignored the tension between her husband and the soldiers. “What would you ask of us? Our resources are at your disposal.”

Athos looked to the Duke, one eyebrow raised in question. The taller man merely grunted his agreement with his wife’s offer.

“We would like to return to the scene of the attack,” Athos addressed the Duchess. “We were able to kill some of the bandits, but we found nothing to identify them. We quickly lost the light, but hope to find some evidence that may lead us to the men responsible. More men to scour the area may prove helpful.” 

Porthos allowed Athos to take the lead, keeping his eyes on the Duke, not missing the look of satisfaction that flashed in his eyes. The big Musketeer was barely able to suppress a growl in his throat, tensing as the nobleman smiled coldly. There was no love lost between the arrogant Duke and the Musketeers, the soldiers knowing it was Savoy who had mercilessly slaughtered their brothers all those years ago. The Duke didn’t realize they knew he was responsible, and they weren’t about to tip their hands unless forced.

The Duke waved a hand dismissively. “As my wife stated, our men are at your disposal. Though I fear you will have to wait until morning.”

Porthos eyes moved to the large windows lining the side of the room, noting the shadows lengthening as the sun rapidly set. 

“We will leave at first light,” Athos agreed solemnly.

Porthos hated the idea of leaving their friends and the Queen in the hands of those who would do them harm, but he had to admit, the Duke was right. They would be able to find nothing in the dark. 

“Anne must be so frightened.” The Duchess grasped her husband’s hands. “I shudder to think she’s in danger simply because she wanted to be with me in this trying time.”

The Duke patted her hand. “Don’t blame yourself, my dear. Whoever is responsible will pay. I’m sure we will find the Queen safe and sound. After all, the Musketeers are on the job.”

Porthos seethed at the disdain in the Duke’s voice. It was obvious his wife was too upset about the fate of her sister-in-law to notice, but he saw Athos flinch, his normally stoic expression hardening into thinly veiled contempt. They knew Aramis was wounded, and Porthos doubted d’Artagnan would’ve gone quietly. He prayed they were alive and able to protect the Queen, knowing they would give their lives to keep her safe.

“As long as Aramis and d’Artagnan live, the Queen will remain unharmed,” Athos assured the Duchess, pointedly ignoring the Duke’s barb. “They will not allow her to come to harm.”

The Duchess took a deep breath, nodding as she accepted Athos’ declaration.

“Of course. I have the utmost faith in your comrades.” She quickly composed herself, waving to one of the pages who had remained back near the far door. “Please accept our hospitality for the time being.” She turned to the young page, instructing him to take the Musketeers to one of the guest rooms and make sure they received food and wine.

“Our thanks, Your Grace.” Athos bowed to the woman and Porthos followed suit, glaring at the smug countenance of the Duke as they passed. 

“The Duke looked fairly pleased with himself,” Porthos whispered as they followed the servant into a long hallway. 

Athos merely nodded. “I assume you suspect he had something to do with the Queen’s abduction?”

Porthos grunted. “Don’t you? It wouldn’t be the first time the arrogant snit tried to undermine the King.”

Athos tilted his head in agreement. “Unfortunately, we cannot accuse the Duke of treason without proof.”

“Then I suggest we find some.”

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Anne glared at the man who stepped through the door, smiling inwardly as he quickly averted his eyes. Their captor didn’t dwell, but placed a tray down on the floor near the bed and left the room as quickly as he’d come. It was quite obvious the Queen’s level stare had unnerved him, and she couldn’t smother a feeling of satisfaction knowing he had been cowed by the eyes of a mere woman.

No, Anne reminded herself, not merely a woman. A Queen.

His Queen.

The treaty the Duke had signed made the principality of Savoy a direct subject of the Crown. These men had kidnapped the Queen of France, and she suddenly wanted them to understand just what that truly meant.

She was frightened – she could not dispute that -- but she was alive, and she knew Aramis and d’Artagnan would do everything within their power to keep her safe. She looked down at Aramis, letting her hand stroke through his hair, noting the pinch of pain around his eyes. He and d’Artagnan had decided to remain as if unconscious as a ruse, but she wasn’t sure how much of her lover’s apparent infirmity was simply an act and how much was true weakness brought about by his wounds. She had been surprised at their strategy at first, believing the brave Musketeers’ initial response to the threat they faced would be more… direct. But she quickly saw the astuteness of their plan. They were both wounded – d’Artagnan still suffering from the blow to his head that had left him unconscious, while Aramis’ leg and head would encumber him more effectively than if he were in chains. She could not fault them for taking the path of least resistance, playing at being worse off than they actually were to lower the guard of their captors.

Once the door slammed shut and the lock engaged again, d’Artagnan crawled to the tray, pulling it back across the floor to others. There was a plate of bread and cheese as well as a pitcher of water. They weren’t going to be treated like royalty, but at least they wouldn’t be allowed to starve either.

D’Artagnan broke the bread into pieces and offered her some. She smiled and shook her head, knowing the two men needed the sustenance more since it was their strength she was relying on.

“Take it,” Aramis admonished her. “We don’t know when we will get another chance.”

Quietly she took the bread and took a small bite, watching as d’Artagnan broke off another piece and held it out to Aramis. The marksman took it then slowly levered himself up, leaning his back against the wall. D’Artagnan held out the pitcher of water to him and he reached for it with trembling hands. Dropping her bread in her lap, Anne reached out and held the pitcher steady as he drank, trying to ignore the way the pitcher shook in her grasp.

After a few sips, Aramis nodded, his thirst sated for the moment, and she handed the pitcher back to d’Artagnan who took a healthy pull of his own.

“We need to get those slats off the window,” Aramis stated as he closed his eyes and leaned his head back. Anne didn’t miss the fact he hadn’t taken a bite of the bread, ignoring his own advice. Instead, he held it in his hand, balanced on his unwounded thigh. He swallowed harshly, forcing his eyes to open and looked pointedly at d’Artagnan. “Can you do this?”

The younger man nodded, confident. “Of course. If I don’t break my leg when I drop.”

Aramis chuckled. “That would be unfortunate. I suggest you pretend you’ve just been thrown by Porthos. Bend the knees and roll through it. You’ve had enough experience with that, this should be simple.”

D’Artagnan returned his smile. “Will you be able to replace the boards once I’ve gone?” Anne followed his glance to Aramis’ leg, noting with concern the dark stain of blood seeping through the bandage.

Aramis rolled his head against the wall. “Doubtful, but I don’t believe they will be back to check on us until morning. Hopefully, by then, you will have found Athos and Porthos and stormed the castle rescuing us from the clutches of evil.”

“So I should tell them we have two fair maidens to rescue?”

“Whatever hurries them along.”

D’Artagnan laughed and slapped his friend’s boot, pushing himself from the ground and hurrying over to the window. The boards were well placed but not overly secured, and after a few good tugs – and as many splinters – he was able to get the bottom most slat to pull from its place. A few more moments of strenuous work and the lower portion of the window was uncovered. As soon as the space was large enough for him to shimmy under, d’Artagnan was able to push open the outer glass and crawl out onto the narrow ledge.

As soon as his boot disappeared beneath the remaining boards, Anne rose and hurried over the window, peering underneath as d’Artagnan turned and lowered himself from the outside edge. She held her breath as his fingers released, waiting until she saw him scurrying away across the field in the darkness before sighing in relief.

“So, it would seem we finally have a moment alone, just the two of us.”

Anne turned and stared at the wounded Musketeer. Aramis sat, propped against the wall, his hair sticking out at odd angles, his wounded leg held stiffly in front of him. He was deathly pale, but despite his apparent pain, there was a crooked smile on his face and his eyes sparkled with mischief. 

“These are not quite the accommodations I have dreamed of.”

Aramis’ brows rose, his smile widening. “So you dream of me?”

Anne couldn’t help but laugh. “You are bold, monsieur, and, it would seem, quite sure of yourself.”

“Do I have cause to be?”

“Perhaps.” She crossed the room and kneeled down at his side, her eyes taking in the slump of exhaustion in his shoulders as well as the sheen of sweat on his brow. A glance at his leg showed the new bandage already stained with blood. “You’re still bleeding.”

Aramis nodded, his hand grasping at his thigh just above the wound. “It has slowed. Until the ball is removed and it can be stitched properly, I’m afraid there is not much more we can do.”

“I hate seeing you in pain.”

He reached out to her, letting the slice of untouched bread fall to the ground, taking her hand in his and squeezing gently. “Do not be concerned, Your Majesty. Being this near to you eclipses any pain.”

She smiled and shook her head, unable to disguise the fondness in her eyes. “You do me great honor, my love.”

The endearment was unintentional, but the sudden moistness in his eyes made her heart flutter with joy. He held her hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly.

“The honor is all mine.”

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Athos sighed, his eyes raking across the barren ground of the previous day’s attack. The sun had barely crawled above the horizon when they’d set out from the Duke’s estate, hoping to find some evidence that could lead them to Aramis, d’Artagnan and the Queen. He knew Aramis was wounded, but they had no idea how severely, and he had to admit that worried him. It seemed Savoy was a cursed place for the marksman, and Athos vowed to never allow his friend anywhere near the principality again.

If only they could find them now.

He pulled his horse to a standstill, waiting as Porthos stopped his own mount beside him.

“The bodies are gone.”

Athos nodded. “It would seem our attackers didn’t want us gaining any more information than we already had.” 

Porthos snorted derisively. “Which was next to nothing.”

They had quickly searched the bodies in the dwindling light the night before, finding no means of identifying the men. He had hoped the Duke’s guards who had accompanied them this morning would recognize something of the remains, but the area had been carefully policed during the night, leaving little to search in the cold light of day.

“Looks like the tracks have all been trampled,” Porthos observed, his eyes following shallow ruts in the road. “Though those are new.”

One of the Duke’s lieutenants who had been assigned to accompany them, a man named Brochard, reined his horse on the other side of Athos and shifted in his saddle, looking around pointedly. “There doesn’t seem to be anything here. Are you sure this is where you were attacked?”

Athos didn’t bother to look at the man. “Yes. We’re sure. The bodies have been removed.”

“Perhaps wild animals carried them off,” Brochard suggested.

“Not unless the wild animals rode horses and drove a cart,” Porthos huffed. He pointed to the fresh ruts in the soft dirt. “Those tracks weren’t there before. Someone came and hauled those bodies away.”

Brochard shrugged. “Those marks could be from some farmer who made an early trip into one of the villages this morning.”

“Perhaps,” Athos agreed, “but it was more likely someone collecting the dead.”

“To what end?”

“To keep us from finding out who sent them.”

Brochard shook his head, his opinion that they were wasting his time obvious. “What do you want me and my men to do?”

The Duchess had arranged for three men to accompany them to the site, but they had shown little interest in helping the Musketeers. Brochard had approached them, but the other two had remained a distance behind, their disdain written clearly on their faces. Despite the treaty the Duke had signed, it was evident the men held no love for France and therefore were not inclined to fight for its Queen. Athos hadn’t expected the people of Savoy – long poisoned against the crown by the Duke’s own opinions – would accept French rule easily, but he was surprised by the level of animosity he felt from the guards as well as their indifference to the Queen’s plight. It was obvious they still served the Duke, their loyalties unflinching in the face of Savoy’s political upheaval. 

Though it would be helpful to have access to the guards’ knowledge of the area, Athos remained cautious. They had no evidence that the Duke was involved, but it wouldn’t be a surprise to find the man linked to the crime. It would be better for him and Porthos to go on alone.

“There is nothing to be done. Ride back to the estate and inform the Duke we will need more men to search the neighboring villages for any sign of the Queen.”

“And you?”

Porthos nodded at the ruts in the road. “We’ll be following these. If someone did cart those bodies off, this could lead us straight to ‘em.”

Brochard nodded and turned his horse, moving to inform his men of their orders.

“You think they’re all right?”

Athos sighed, unsure how to answer Porthos’ question.

“Aramis is wounded, that much we know.”

Porthos nodded. “And d’Artagnan wouldn’t be taken without a fight.” He looked around, an expression of distaste on his face. “We should’ve never agreed to this.” 

“We didn’t have a choice,” Athos reminded his friend. “The Queen was set on this plan of action and there was little chance of dissuading her.” 

“I know. I just hate the thought of Aramis having to come back here. He should never have to set food on Savoyan soil again after what happened.”

“Aramis survived the massacre six years ago,” Athos said confidently. “He will survive this.”

“He’d better,” Porthos pulled on the reins and urged his mount forward. “Or else I’ll kill ‘im myself.”

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

D’Artagnan stumbled, his head spinning, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He’d been running all night, not knowing whether or not his escape had been noticed, but knowing he needed to find help as soon as possible. Aramis’ wounds were severe; the longer the ball remained embedded in his leg, the worse the chance of infection became. They had no idea who it was that had attacked them on the road, but it was certain that whoever it was, knew exactly whom they had abducted. 

There were plenty of people out there who had reason to dislike the King and his policies, but few would go to such lengths to make their displeasure known. Kidnapping the Queen could only be construed as a threat to the Crown and punishable by death. Though they may have ample reason to be disgruntled, d’Artagnan could not see any of the common people feeling bitter enough to harvest such a plot. Whoever was behind this was no commoner, and considering their present location, d’Artagnan couldn’t help but suspect the Duke of Savoy himself of being involved.

The thought had occupied his mind throughout night. He had no evidence, but it made dreadful sense. The bandits who had taken them had mentioned nothing of the Duke, but considering the man’s marked contempt of the King, d’Artagnan was certain his suspicions were correct.

Which only served to make his mission all the more important.

The Duke had tried to wipe out an entire regiment of Musketeers six years ago, leaving only Aramis alive as witness to his crime. If the Duke realized Aramis had survived the massacre, d’Artagnan doubted the man would hesitate to correct his mistake. Even if he wasn’t fool enough to bring harm to the Queen, it was far less certain he would leave the one man who could bring his transgressions to light alive.

Leaning against a tree, d’Artagnan swallowed, his throat dry, his chest burning as he tried to suck in enough air. His head still ached, but he pushed it down, knowing he could ill afford to take the time to deal with it at present. He was Aramis’ and the Queen’s only hope. Even if the marksman could find a means of escape, his wounds would not allow him to get far, and it was obvious the Queen would not leave his side.

Her Majesty’s devotion to his friend was puzzling, but d’Artagnan attributed it to her fear and her trust in Aramis’ abilities. After all, the man had directly saved her life on more than one occasion, it was reasonable to conclude she felt safe under his protection. But d’Artagnan was not a fool. Nor was he blind. The Queen’s reaction to Aramis being wounded back in their prison had been telling. It was the same look he used to see in Constance’s eyes when she looked at him. D’Artagnan knew love when he witnessed it.

And Aramis wasn’t much better at hiding his own affection. The Queen was an extremely beautiful woman – and, as d’Artagnan had learned, a very kind and personable one – but she was still The Queen. Aramis would be a fool to attempt any kind of relationship bar a professional one. It would be treason, and d’Artagnan refused to contemplate it.

No. The Queen was perfectly safe in Aramis’ care. D’Artagnan would not allow himself to believe anything else. He knew Aramis would conduct himself as a gentleman and, if necessary, lay down his life to protect her as a Musketeer should. He just hoped their captors were as honorable.

He took a deep breath, releasing it slowly, finally able to bring his breathing to a marginally rhythmic level. As he looked up, he noted the darkness was not so encompassing, relieved to hear the songbirds heralding the coming of the dawn. Squinting through the trees, he realized he was on the edge of a small village, the thatched roofs of a row of buildings just visible in the scant light. 

He nearly sagged in relief. 

Hopefully, he would be able to find help – or at least a way to get a message to Athos and Porthos. He’d assumed they continued on to the Duke’s estate to inform the Duchess of their plight. With any luck, he would be able to find a horse and make his way there. Between the three of them, he knew they could return and rescue Aramis and the Queen. He just prayed they would both be able to keep themselves alive until then.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The Duke of Savoy was not a forgiving man – none of the men who served him had ever fooled themselves into believing their employer was a kind, generous human being. Quite the contrary. The man was a force of nature, and not one to be trifled with. So it was with a hefty amount of trepidation, Brochard greeted the imposing Duke as he dismounted at the entrance to the old estate house.

He knew the Duke would be angry that the younger Musketeer had escaped. He’d ordered men to scour the countryside as soon as he’d arrived and found the man gone, but there had been no sign and he was afraid the young man would be able to find his friends and alert them to the Queen’s location. If the Duke’s plan was to work, they could not allow that to happen. He was convinced the Duke meant for no harm to come to the Queen – hurting women was not something Brochard would condone – but he knew the man had no compunction over hurting the Musketeers. And now with the younger one gone, he was sure the Duke would take his frustrations out on the one remaining.

He almost felt sorry for the man. 

Especially once the Duke learned the man they still held was the sole survivor from the attack six years ago.

Brochard had been surprised when the other two Musketeers had unknowingly revealed that the Musketeer called Aramis had been part of the company of soldiers Richelieu had sent to Savoy all those years ago. Brochard had been young then, a raw recruit, excited for his first mission as a member of the Duke’s guard. He had heard stories of the Musketeers, and had looked forward with youthful exuberance to testing his mettle in battle against what he considered the finest soldiers France had to offer. 

But the battle had not been what he’d been expecting. Most of the musketeers were asleep and they had snuck in and slaughtered them in their tents. The few that had been awakened by their comrades’ muffled screams fought valiantly – much as he expected they would -- but they were outnumbered by the Duke’s forces and totally unprepared for the attack. He remembered being lost in the thrill of battle until he watched as another of the soldiers – a boy no older than himself – had been awakened by a sword through his chest.

Brochard remembered the boy’s eyes – bright in the pale moonlight – filled with questions and fear. He had looked around then, sickened by the carnage he’d witnessed. It was one thing to defeat an enemy in battle, but it was something else to slaughter them before they could even mount a defense. He knew the Duke was under the conviction the men had been sent to assassinate them, but Brochard had never been convinced. 

Brochard had known enough about the King’s finest soldiers to know they would never have been caught off guard if they were on a mission of such importance. The fact the Duke’s men had been able to slip in so quietly, seemingly knowing exactly where to find their encampment, had always puzzled him. A friend in Paris had told him years later the battle had been considered a massacre, and the word was the men had been on a simple training mission and believed attacked by a Spanish raiding party. He had believed all the Musketeers dead, but those rumors had obviously been wrong.

If this man, Aramis, was there, then he was the only person alive who knew exactly why they had been camped in that forest and could give a first hand account of the attack. Though Brochard was loyal to the Duke, he couldn’t help but feel pity for the other soldier’s plight. Brochard had seen the carnage first hand. It must have been Hell to survive such a battle, let alone return to the same forest only to be attacked again and taken prisoner. It was a fate he would wish on no man.

“Welcome, your Grace.” Brochard bowed to his Lord, his gaze avoiding the Duke’s calculating eyes. “I trust your evening was peaceful.”

A smug smile bloomed on the Duke’s face. “I slept like a baby, Brochard. Tell me, how are our prisoners today? I trust Her Majesty was treated well?”

Brochard nodded. “As per your orders, the Queen has not been harmed.”

“Good.” Savoy narrowed his eyes as he looked at his lieutenant. “But I sense something has gone wrong. Out with it, man!”

Brochard sighed. “I arrived this morning to find that one of the Musketeers we had taken along with the Queen had managed to escape sometime in the night.”

Savoy’s face reddened in anger, but he held himself rigidly in check. “Why were they not secured?”

“Both of the Musketeers were unconscious when taken, Sir. One was shot in the leg, the other felled by a head wound. At last report, they had not awakened. The men on guard deemed it unnecessary to bind them in that state. There were guards posted at the doors and patrolling the grounds. I do not know how he could’ve slipped past.”

Savoy stepped closer, his eyes flashing. “Find him,” he growled. “And kill him.”

Brochard swallowed, nodding, forcing himself not to step back. “I have already ordered men to scour the grounds. They believe they have picked up his trail in the woods.”

Savoy nodded and resumed his trek to the abandoned estate house. “And the other Musketeers? What did they find on the road?”

“Nothing, Your Grace.” Brochard answered hastily. “The bodies of the men we hired had been removed as you instructed.” He followed the larger man into the old stone building, stopping as the Duke entered the main room and divested himself of his weapons belt and gloves. Brochard hesitated, finally clearing his throat and continuing. “There is something else you should know.” 

Savoy turned to him, annoyed. “I’m in no mood for guessing games, Brochard. Out with it!”

Brochard silently debated what to do. In his present mood, the Duke was a dangerous man. If he informed him who they held prisoner, Brochard had as good as condemned the Musketeer to death. If he was sure the Duke would make it quick and painless, Brochard could almost consider it an act of kindness, but he knew the man he had pledged his loyalty to, and the Duke rarely exercised kindness when dealing with his perceived enemies.

Despite his sympathy for the Musketeer, he was a good soldier and knew his duty. He had pledged his loyalty to Savoy and he was honor-bound to divulge what he had learned.

“I overheard the two Musketeers, Athos and Porthos, speaking this morning. They mentioned their friend, Aramis, the one who is still in our custody, was here six years ago, with the company of Musketeers we attacked in the night.”

“That’s impossible,” Savoy stepped forward, his eyes stormy, his fists clenched by his side. “There were no survivors. Richelieu informed me himself.”

“I only know what I overheard, Your Grace.”

Savoy exploded. “That bastard! I knew it! He was lying through his teeth! If he wasn’t dead already…” The Duke took a deep breath and fought to calm himself. After a few moments he turned back to Brochard, his breathing harsh, his eyes smoldering with hatred. “Bring me the Musketeer.”

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Anne felt the shaft of sunlight on her face, warming her, slowly rousing her from her slumber. Blinking open her eyes, she was reminded of their circumstances as the barren, stone walls of the room came into focus. She pushed up from the pallet, shoving back the coarse blanket that had been draped over her.

She had tried to make Aramis lie down on the pallet alone, afraid of his condition deteriorating further if he remained propped against the wall. The thin mattress of the pallet wasn’t much softer than the ground, but at least it was warmer than the cold stones of the floor. The Musketeer had refused. Though his wounds obviously pained him, he would not hear of the Queen sleeping on the ground. They had compromised, both sharing the bed, despite the danger of close proximity to his wound or the impropriety if anyone had checked on them in the night. She turned to check on him, frowning at the sheen of sweat along his brow. Tentatively, she reached a hand to his forehead, gasping at the heat she felt from his moist skin.

She took a moment to gaze upon him. He was asleep, though his eyes were still pinched in pain. His breathing was even and deep and she smiled at how young he looked, sleep leaving him bereft of the burdens that normally weighed his shoulders. She ran the back of her finger down his cheek, stroking the dark, coarse hairs of his beard. He was a very handsome man, almost beautiful. Right now, relaxed as he was, she could almost see the innocent boy he had once been. She smiled, thinking of their son. With any luck, he would grow to be as handsome as his father, with as good a heart and as warm a smile.

She glanced at his leg, relieved to see no new blood staining the bandage. She knew the warmth was the beginning of fever caused by the lead still embedded in his wound, and she prayed d’Artagnan had made good his escape and found help, already leading Athos and Porthos back to this place to rescue them. She had no idea how long a ball could remain inside a body until it caused irreparable damage, and she never wanted to find out. Especially if that body belonged to the man who had captured her heart.

She looked back at his face, surprised to see his warm brown eyes watching her. She smiled.

“Good morning.”

Aramis grinned wearily. “I could get used to waking like this.”

“Wounded and in a locked room?” She quipped.

“Beside you.” He raised an arm and snaked it around her, pulling her close to him. “You are a vision of loveliness.”

She laughed self-deprecatingly and pushed her hair back from her face. “I’m sure I look a mess.”

Aramis raised his free hand and gently guided a long curl behind her ear. “Never to me.”

Anne sighed, losing herself in his eyes. “I believe the fever is making you hallucinate, monsieur.”

“Then I shall strive to remain forever in this state, if this is the result.”

Anne sighed and placed a soft kiss on his lips. “There are so many more things we could do with you healthy and fit.”

Aramis returned the kiss. “What exactly do you have in mind, Your Majesty?”

Anne smiled. “You’ll just have to get better and find out.”

“Ahhh, with such inspiration, I shall be well in no time.”

Anne giggled, wondering how he could make her feel like a woman and a schoolgirl at the same time.

She shifted against him, accidentally brushing his leg, bringing about a hiss of pain.

She drew back abruptly. “I’m sorry. I forgot…”

He tried to give her a reassuring smile that appeared as more of a grimace. “Do not fret, my Queen. I assure you, I’ve been through worse.”

Anne nodded, saddened that this was probably true. “What can I do for you?” She was at a loss as to how to comfort him, how to lessen his pain. She knew it had to be excruciating, yet he seemed able to ignore it for the most part. She suspected he was downplaying the pain for her benefit; not wanting her to worry, which only made her worry more. She shifted and reached for the pitcher of water their captor had left the night before and held it to his lips, supporting his head so he could take a few small sips of the cool liquid. She smiled as he closed his eyes in contentment as the water slaked his thirst and brought momentary relief to his fevered body.

“Please, Anne,” Aramis touched her hand as she turned to replace the pitcher on the floor, “you must drink also.”

She shook her head. “There is little remaining.” She ripped another piece of her dress and dipped it into the water, trailing it along his brow. He closed his eyes and sighed as her hand moved the cloth over his face, wiping away the accumulated sweat. She let her touch trail down his cheek, coming to rest at the hollow of his throat. “You are feverish,” she stated, rewetting the cloth and moving it slowly over his upper chest. 

“There is nothing to be done for it,” Aramis assured her, not bothering to open his eyes. “D’Artagnan will be back soon and all will be well.”

“You have much faith in him.”

“He has proven himself worthy of such faith,” he said, his words beginning to slur as her ministrations began to relax him. “He will find Athos and Porthos. No sense in worrying. We will be fine.” His voice was barely a whisper and she smiled fondly, watching as he once again sank into the thin mattress of the pallet, his face losing some of the pinched look of pain.

She started when the door burst open, a man she had not seen before stepping through the entrance. He bowed his head in deference to her, his eyes quickly alighting on the wounded man at her side.

“On your feet Musketeer,” the man ordered. His hand was on the hilt of his sword as he stepped closer, his gaze assessing Aramis’ condition. “Can you walk?”

“He has a musket ball in his leg!” Anne stated incredulously. “You can’t expect him to move!”

The man looked momentarily remorseful, but quickly schooled his expression to one of indifference. “He can walk or be dragged. It makes little difference to me.”

Before she could protest again, Aramis forced himself up on an elbow, letting his hand fall on her arm. She dropped her eyes, fear for him making her shake.

“I will be all right, Your Majesty.” He waited for her to meet his eyes and gave her a small smile. “I give you my word, I will return to you.”

She couldn’t stop the tear that slowly rolled down her cheek. “I will hold you to that, monsieur.”

He reached up and wiped the tear with the pad of his thumb, waiting until she returned his smile before squeezing her arm, indicating she should move back from the sleeping pallet. Once she was clear, Aramis shifted his leg with a pained grunt and slowly, carefully pushed himself to his feet. Anne cringed as he swayed dangerously, attempting to put weight on his leg. She knew the pain must be unbearable, but Aramis barely flinched, returning the guards gaze defiantly.

“I want your word the Queen will not be harmed.” Though he was hunched in obvious agony, in no position to make demands, his voice was strong and commanding. Anne felt her heart swell with pride and love for the man.

The guard looked to her then nodded. “On my honor, Your Majesty.”

Aramis’ shoulders relaxed a bit at the guard’s assurance. “Then I will not fight you.”

The guard snorted a laugh, making a show of looking Aramis up and down, obviously believing the Musketeer incapable of resistance.

“Aramis,” she called softly, reaching out a hand and grasping his. He smiled, his eyes warm with affection. He didn’t bother reassuring her with words, but brought her hand to his lips, kissing it gently.

When he released her hand and turned to follow the guard, she pulled it to her chest and held it against her heart, fearing they had just said goodbye.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

D’Artagnan ducked into the nearest door and pressed himself up against the warped wood of the wall. He’d heard the men coming through the woods behind him and scurried toward the village, keeping to the trees until he could make a dash to the row of buildings on the edge of the small town. He slinked back into the shadows, holding his breath as the men walked their horses past the entrance, not bothering to check inside. Once he was sure they were gone, he relaxed and allowed his tired body to sink to the dirt floor.

His headache had not relented since escaping the old estate house the previous evening, and his stomach rumbled with hunger. He’d found a small stream in the woods and had been able to quench his thirst, but that was hours ago and he found himself licking his dry lips, wishing for a cool mug of ale to soothe his parched throat. The young man took a deep breath and leaned his head back against the rough wood. He closed his eyes, relishing the stillness for a moment. He was exhausted. His nerves had been on edge through most of his flight through the forest, emotions high, senses alert to any signs of pursuit. Now that he’d found a semblance of civilization, he found his fatigue getting the better of him. He had no idea whether the people of the village were loyal to the Duke or not, but he hoped he’d at least be able to rest for a while and perhaps find something to eat before continuing on to find Athos and Porthos. The thought of food made his stomach rumble loudly, and he opened his eyes, surveying his surroundings, hoping there was no one close enough to hear.

He appeared to be in a small barn. There was straw strewn across the dirt floor and some empty stalls on the far side of the room that had seen better days. The large open door he had entered through seemed to be the only source of light. Near the back wall, lost in shadows, sat a rickety cart, its hold covered by a large tarp. As d’Artagnan squinted through the scant morning light, his eyes discerned an arm protruding from under the canvas.

Alarmed, he pushed himself from the ground and slowly moved across the short distance to the wagon. As he neared, the unmistakable smell of blood and death accosted him and his ears picked up on the buzzing of a myriad of flies hovering on and around the cart. With a grimace, he reached a tentative hand toward the edge of the material and flipped it up, recoiling at the pile of bloody bodies piled haphazardly underneath.

He held a hand to his nose to ward off the stench as he stepped closer, his eyes taking in the deep cuts and punctures on the bodies that could’ve only been caused by swords.

D’Artagnan realized these must be the bodies of the bandits who had attacked them on the road.

But what were they doing here, hidden inside this barn? He couldn’t imagine any reason Athos and Porthos would’ve taken the time to gather them – especially with the fate of the Queen as well as his and Aramis’ in jeopardy. Perhaps whoever was behind this was also responsible, attempting to hide any evidence from the Musketeers who had escaped and, in all probability, taken word of the ambush to the Duchess. 

It had to be the Duke, trying to cover the attack. Who else would have the power to accomplish so large an operation in such little time? The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became the Duke of Savoy was the one orchestrating this entire debacle. It wouldn’t be difficult for him to gain access to his wife’s information, and if he suspected the Duchess of remaining loyal to her brother and France, there was no telling to what lengths he would go to enact his revenge.

Even kidnapping the Queen.

The sound of approaching horses had him ducking behind the cart, cringing at the smell of rot, already emanating from the bodies. He forced several shallow breaths through his mouth, hoping to ward off the stench and keep himself from throwing up. He pressed himself back further as the horses stopped at the entrance of the barn and he heard the riders dismount. 

There were two of them, he deduced from the sounds of the shuffling footsteps on the dirt floor. As the riders approached the cart, d’Artagnan heard the distinct jangle of swords and squeak of leather and held his breath, knowing he had no weapons to defend himself against armed soldiers. The men were nearly on top of him and he steeled himself, hoping he could still find enough energy to fight his way free and run.

“Just like we thought. Someone didn’t want us to find these bodies back on the road.”

D’Artagnan sagged in relief when Porthos’ familiar voice rang out in the silence.

“Fortunately they weren’t smart enough to cover their tracks.”

D’Artagnan slid down against the wall as Athos responded, landing with a resounding thump. The sound of his descent was loud enough to cause the two older Musketeers to draw their pistols and dart around the cart, one on either side, arms outstretched, weapons aimed.

D’Artagnan smiled rolling his head against the wall to look at each of his friends. His eyes widened at the two pistols leveled at his head. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t shoot me.”

Athos and Porthos exchanged a look of surprise before hooking their pistols back on their belts and dropping down to their knees before the younger man.

“Are you injured?”

D’Artagnan snorted through his nose at Athos’ inquiry. “No, I just enjoy sitting here under a cartload of rotting corpses.”

Porthos couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “Whelp’s getting’ cheeky. Been hanging around Aramis too much.”

D’Artagnan lifted his arms, silently asking for their assistance. As the two older men hauled him to his feet, Athos kept a firm hand on his arm, stepping closer as he swayed dangerously.

“Guess that answers the question,” Porthos quipped. He stepped back, allowing Athos to support their wobbling friend.

“I’m all right,” d’Artagnan protested. “Just took a knock to the head. Been running all night. I’ll be fine.”

“The Queen?” Athos asked, concern coloring his voice.

D’Artagnan took a deep breath in an attempt to stop the room from sliding sideways, wrinkling his nose at the stench of the bodies piled a few steps away. He swallowed convulsively, the smell making him nauseous. “The Queen is unharmed last I saw.” He placed a hand on his stomach and grimaced, a cue for Athos to lead him around the cart and back toward the open door. Once in the fresher air and able to breathe deeply, d’Artagnan quickly began to feel better.

“Aramis?”

D’Artagnan turned his head, taking in Porthos’ worried countenance. “He was shot in the leg.” The bigger man nodded, having seen that much himself. “The ball is still in there. We stopped the bleeding, but he was beginning to show signs of fever. If we don’t get to them soon…” He shrugged, letting the statement drop, the danger to their friend obvious.

“How many guards did you see?”

“Just one. He brought us food and water. But I heard more on the grounds when I escaped. I didn’t stop to count.”

“Do you remember how many took you?”

D’Artagnan rubbed the back of his neck and closed his eyes, trying to recall the previous day. “There were two on horseback and at least five on the ground. Two of them took out Aramis, knocked him out with the butt of a pistol once they had him on the ground. I think Aramis killed one and I got another.”

Porthos growled. “We found bloodstains but no bodies.” He motioned toward the cart at the back of the barn. “I bet we’d fine ‘em in there.”

Athos tilted his head in agreement. “Do you think you could find the way back to where you were held?”

D’Artagnan nodded. “I think so. It was a large estate house; seemed abandoned. Can’t be too many of those around.” He tilted his chin toward the trees lining the village. “It’s a couple lieu east, through the forest. I was moving pretty fast and it was dark, but I’m pretty sure I kept in a somewhat straight line west.” 

“Then what are we waiting for?” Porthos moved around them toward his horse, but Athos caught his arm as he passed.

“Wait.” 

Porthos looked at him incredulously. “Wait? You heard ‘im. Aramis needs help. Now. He isn’t goin’ta last long with a ball in his leg.”

Athos squeezed the bigger man’s arm in acknowledgement. “I know. But we have no idea how many we’re up against. And, if our suspicions are correct and the Duke is behind all of this, we are going to need some help. Going in blind could get them both killed.”

Porthos sighed through his nose, nodding impatiently. “What do you suggest?”

“We inform the Duchess,” Athos said decisively. “If she is as loyal to France as the King believes, not even her love for her husband should stand in the way of helping us rescue the Queen.”

 

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Aramis was led to a large room, barren of furniture save for a dusty oak cabinet near the opening he’d been led through. The floors were of the same cold stone as the room he and Anne were being held, and he stumbled over a spot where the mortar had crumbled, grunting as the fire in his leg flared, engulfing him in agony. Two pairs of strong hands callously grabbed his arms, keeping him upright, forcing him toward the center of the room. There were at least ten men scattered about; two near the doorway that led to the outer corridor and the two that currently flanked him, the others grouped on the far side of the room. He was aware of the soldier who had escorted him crossing the room, but couldn’t manage to track him, his mind overwhelmed by the pain radiating up his leg.

He let himself sag, the guards at his sides tightening their grip to take his weight. He hated showing any sign of weakness, but the act of remaining upright was becoming increasingly difficult as his vision began to swim and his body shivered from fever. He knew he was in trouble and had no idea what they hoped to gain by interrogating him. He prayed he could take the man who’d escorted him at his word. As long as no harm came to the Queen, he would endure whatever they had in store.

His head bowed, he was aware of the murmur of conversation from the group, followed by the slow, calculated footsteps of someone coming near. The footsteps stopped directly in front of him and Aramis slowly raised his head, expecting to see his escort, but not all that surprised to find the imposing form of the Duke of Savoy staring back at him. He squared his shoulders, taking more of his own weight and returned the Duke’s stare levelly, showing no sign of fear or deference to his station.

“You should show proper respect toward your betters, Musketeer.”

Aramis bristled at the man’s arrogant tone. “I don’t see anyone fitting that description here.”

In hindsight, he knew he should have seen the blow coming, but being wounded and feverish tended to make him a bit slower than usual. Fortunately, the grip the two guards had on his arms kept him from falling to the cold stone floor. The backhanded slap renewed the ache in his head, but Aramis forced himself to meet the Duke’s eyes again, giving the man a defiant grin.

Savoy huffed his displeasure and nodded at the guards who forced the wounded man to his knees. He couldn’t contain a grunt of pain as his knees hit the floor, the fire once again flashing up his leg, seeming to engulf his entire body. He squeezed his eyes closed, breathing harshly through his nose, trying to fight past the intense flare of agony. 

The Duke’s eyes narrowed, his lips twisted in a haughty grin, obviously enjoying his prisoner’s distress. “So you’re the one. I recognize you now. Though, I must admit, you’re hardly as impressive as I believed you would be.”

Aramis raised his head, snorting derisively. So the Duke knew who he was. Fortunately, on that subject, they were on equal ground. “I’m flattered. I too recognize you, even without the mask you hid behind.” 

Savoy crossed his arms and began to circle around the Musketeer, forcing the guards to step back. “Few men have raised a sword to me and lived to tell the tale. The scar I carry is a reminder that I am not invincible.”

“If you should ever have need of further reminding, I would be happy to oblige.” Aramis knew antagonizing the man was not exactly in his best interest, but he couldn’t help himself. Porthos had always told him that one day his mouth would get him into more trouble than his level of skill would be able to get him out of. He wondered if this was that day.

The Duke leaned in over his shoulder, his voice rumbling near Aramis’ ear. “I don’t believe you’re in any position to make such an offer.” His hot breath flowed across Aramis’ exposed neck, and the marksman couldn’t suppress a shudder, the sensation prickling his skin. He swallowed, forcing himself to keep his composure.

“You’d be surprised what a Musketeer can accomplish when duly motivated.” 

“I’m sure. But I doubt you’ll live long enough to fulfill that fantasy.” Savoy completed his circuit, pausing as he returned to his spot in front of the Musketeer.

Aramis looked up, meeting his eyes, enraged at the arrogance on the man’s face. “You’re mad. Are you so far gone you can’t see how this will inevitably end? You’ve kidnapped the Queen of France.” He said the words slow and pointedly. “The King will not allow you to live and Spain will no longer support you.” 

Since signing the treaty with France, Aramis assumed Spain had given up trying to lure Savoy’s allegiance. He was merely a soldier and not privy to political schemes, but Aramis wouldn’t put it past the Duke to use Anne as a pawn for his own agenda – whatever that may be.

Savoy waved a hand as if it was all of little consequence. “Louis is a fool. Without Richelieu to pull his strings, he’s merely an aspirant to power. He has no more control over what happens in his country than you. As for Spain, King Phillip will place the blame for his sister’s misfortune on Louis’ head.” He placed his arms behind his back and began another circuit around the Musketeer. Aramis craned his neck in an attempt to keep the man in his sights. “An all out war with Spain would force The King to find a new ally,” the Duke continued. “ One who would be able to counter the Spanish navy and he will have no choice but to look to England.”

Aramis frowned as he turned his head, his eyes tracking the Duke. “England is in the midst of a civil war. She is in no position to help anyone.”

The civil war in England had been escalating for some time. Oliver Cromwell, a Puritan, had led an army against the monarchy with the backing of the British Parliament. The coup had been somewhat successful, but King Charles’ forces were still fighting, and Louis had pledged his allegiance to the monarch. There was little chance he would renege on that promise considering Charles was married to his youngest sister, Henrietta.

Again, the Duke haughtily waved the argument away. “With King Charles under siege, Louis will have no choice but to back Lord Cromwell in exchange for the aid of the English armada.”

Aramis laughed, finding the Duke’s logic absurd. “Louis would never turn against King Charles. He’s his brother-in-law and royalty by birth. Cromwell is nothing but a usurper and a traitor.”

Savoy smiled, almost conciliatory. “Your loyalty is admirable, Musketeer. But Lord Oliver Cromwell is a noble leader who has given me his word Savoy will be granted sovereignty so that I will never have to bow down to that pompous child Louis again. With any luck, he will be killed and I will be able to claim France as a spoil of war.”

“Your arrogance will be your downfall.” Aramis shook his head in astonishment. The man was truly mad if he believed this plot would work. 

“And your impudence will be yours.” Savoy’s smile turned cold as he stepped close and leaned down, causing Aramis to shift back to keep some distance between them. The pull on his wounded thigh ignited the fire again and he winced at the strain. The Duke’s eyes dropped to the bloody bandage tied around Aramis’ leg as if noticing it for the first time. His eyes narrowed dangerously. “I wanted to meet you face to face, Musketeer, if only to finish what I failed to do six years ago. You should’ve died in that forest with your mongrel brothers.”

“I’ve never been very good at doing what I was told.”

Savoy laughed, amused at his prisoner’s audacity. “An interesting trait for a soldier. I thought your kind blindly followed orders. Like assassinating men your Cardinal found inconvenient.”

So that was what this confrontation was about. Aramis had been dragged down here for no other reason than the Duke’s twisted sense of balance. The Duke still believed they’d been sent by Richelieu to kill him and would not allow him to escape his wrath. Aramis understood the reason for the ruse – the Duchess’ safety at the time deemed more important than the twenty men who had died to protect her -- but he would not besmirch his brothers now, no matter the cost to the Duchess. “We were on a training mission. Despite what you may have been led to believe, we had no orders to harm you or anyone else.” He leaned forward and met the Duke’s eyes accusingly. “You murdered twenty good men for nothing.”

Savoy stared for a moment, obviously trying to assess the sincerity of the man before him. Finally, he stood, shaking his head in denial. “You continue to cling to your lies. Very well. We will see what it will take for you to admit the truth.” 

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

The duchess received them, surprised to see d’Artagnan alongside the other two Musketeers. Noting his disheveled and bruised appearance, she offered to summon a surgeon, but the young man declined the offer, requesting instead water and food. She immediately sent a servant to the kitchens with orders to bring back whatever they could find.

With the amenities taken care of, she dismissed the guards and her attendants, leaving only one lady standing silently be her side.

“It’s all right,” she assured them when they looked upon the woman with trepidation. “Collette is well aware of my loyalties. You may speak freely in front of her.”

Athos lowered his voice despite her declaration. “We believe we know where the Queen and our comrade are being held, Your Grace.” He tilted his head toward d’Artagnan who was seated on an upholstered chair at the side of the main entrance, Porthos hovering close. “D’Artagnan was able to escape last night. We found him in a small village a few lieu south of here. He believes they are being held in an abandoned estate house two lieu east of the village beyond the forest.”

The Duchess nodded, her brows pinched in thought. “My husband’s ancestral home is in that direction. It was all but destroyed when he was but a boy, but the foundation still stands. It could be the place he’s describing.”

Athos shifted nervously, careful not to overstep his bounds. “Your Grace, where is your husband?”

“He had duties to attend to,” she answered easily. “He left early this morning –“ The Musketeers’ demeanor gave her pause. “You believe Victor has something to do with Anne’s disappearance.” It was more of a statement than an inquiry, but Athos nodded in response.

“I’m sorry, but yes. The Duke’s enmity toward your brother is well known.”

The Duchess placed a hand upon her breast, her eyes wide in indignation. “My husband is a proud and willful man,” she admitted, “but he is not a cruel one. I cannot believe he would put Anne’s life in danger or use her in such a way just to seek retribution on Louis. He signed the treaty with France of his own volition. What purpose would kidnapping the Queen serve?”

“We don’t know. But everything we’ve found seems to point to this being a well thought out plan. The men who attacked us were not common bandits. They were much too organized. The fact they were taken to the old estate house seems to implicate the Duke.”

The Duchess breathed out, her hand falling to her swollen stomach. She shook her head. “I won’t believe it. This would be treason. He is not that rash.”

“Perhaps, you are right.” Athos, noting her distress, tried to appease her. “But the fact remains, the Queen’s life is still in jeopardy, as is the life of our friend.”

“Your friend is a Musketeer, is he not capable?”

“Aramis is more than capable.” Athos turned as Porthos and d’Artagnan stepped up beside him, the bigger man’s voice a low rumble in defense of his friend. “The Duke learned that the hard way.”

“I don’t understand,” The Duchess’ eyes shifted from Porthos’ to Athos’. “Is this Aramis the Musketeer Victor dueled when we were in Paris?”

“No, Your Grace, that was I.” Athos bowed his head in acknowledgement. “Your husband’s… acquaintance… with Aramis goes back quite a bit further.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The massacre.”

Athos sighed and closed his eyes at Porthos’ blunt honesty. 

The Duchess paled. “We were told there were no survivors.”

“Just one.” Porthos informed her. “Aramis.”

The Duchess took a step back, her lady taking her arm and leading her to a chair. D’Artagnan quickly retrieved the pitcher of water from the tray the servant had brought and handed her a glass. After a few sips, she handed it to Collette and took a deep breath to collect her wits.

“If this is true, we must pray my husband does not find out.” She looked at the three men before her, her guilt and fear warring on her face. “I have long regretted the sacrifice those men made to ensure my safety. Knowing there is one man who did not suffer the fate of the others lifts my heart, but Victor is still convinced the story the Cardinal told him is true. He believes he was just, that the men were there to assassinate him. The story served its purpose then, but I am weary of this burden of guilt. If the Duke realizes Aramis survived, he will not hesitate to kill him.”

“Then help us,” Athos intoned. “If these men answer to the Duke, they will be well trained and many in number. We know Aramis was wounded in the attack on the road and d’Artagnan is also not at full strength.” He held up a hand to halt the younger man’s protest before turning his attention back to the Duchess. 

“What would you ask of me?”

“We need fighters we can trust – even if asked to kill their own countrymen.”

She nodded, unfazed by the request. “At my brother’s insistence, I have retained a small contingency of guards who are loyal to me and to France. They are at your disposal.”

Athos nodded. “Thank you.” He stepped back, indicating with a nod for Porthos and d’Artagnan to precede him from the room.

“Monsieur Athos,” the Duchess stood and placed a hand on his arm. “Your first priority must be the safety of the Queen, and I understand the wellbeing of your friend is in your heart, and I assure you, mine as well. But I must plead for the life of my husband. If you are correct, and this is of his doing, please, promise me you will do whatever you can to see he is taken alive.” A tear trickled from her eye, but she didn’t blink, her eyes locked with Athos, her entreaty soft yet passionate. “He is a prideful man, but he’s a good man, deep down. For my sake – for my sons’ – please.”

Athos swallowed, shaken by her depth of emotion. “I will do what I can, but I will let no harm come to the Queen. Nor to Aramis. He has suffered enough because of Savoy. I will not see him suffer more.”

She nodded sadly. “I understand. Bring my sister safely to me, Monsieur.”

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Anne stepped back, her hands clenched tightly as she heard the footsteps approaching from the hallway. Since they had taken Aramis, she had been listening intently, praying for his safe return. The guard who had come for him had given his word no harm would come to her, but she feared that assurance did not extend to the Musketeer. Already wounded, a fever was taking hold and she knew he was weakening; he would be unable to withstand much more physical abuse without lasting damage. As strong and capable as she knew him to be, there was only so much any man could take, but her steadfast belief in her Musketeer remained staunch. Aramis would not leave her or their son alone. Not if he could help it. He had made her a promise and she held firm to the conviction he would do everything in his power to keep it.

As the door swung open, she raised a hand to her mouth, stifling the gasp that threatened to escape as the guards dragged Aramis, lifeless and limp, through the door. They tossed him to the floor, turning without so much as a glance at her, slamming the door in their wake.

She rushed to him, her hands hovering above him, unsure where to touch so as not to cause more pain.

Aramis lay on his side, arms bent in front, his head resting against the cold stone floor. A reddish bruise festered beneath his eye, swelling and stretching his pale skin. Dried blood clung to his split lip. Though his eyes remained closed, she could tell he was conscious from his shallow breaths, even though he made no attempt to move. She reached out tentatively, her fingers brushing an errant curl from his face.

“Aramis?” she called softly. Bending forward, she placed one hand on his head and the other on his arm, applying pressure, attempting to roll him to his back.

Aramis moaned, his body tensing at the movement, but allowed her to shift him until he lay flat against the stones. His eyes fluttered and she cupped a hand to his warm cheek, turning his head so she could meet his unfocused gaze. 

“Are you unharmed?” he managed to breathe out.

She smiled through the tears sliding down her cheeks. “I am well, Aramis. Fear not, no one has harmed me. It is you who are in need of comfort.”

He sighed in relief, letting his eyes drift shut. “It seems we have been in this situation before.”

She laughed, her smile warming at the memory of their time at the convent. “We seem to have a knack for finding ourselves in dire circumstances.” She frowned as he tensed in pain, his arm coming to encircle his torso.

“Are you injured?”

He grinned. “You mean besides the musket ball in my leg?” She slapped him gently on the arm and his smile widened. “Nothing fatal, I assure you, Your Majesty. You should know Musketeers are quite difficult to kill.”

“So I have observed.”

The door opened and the guard who had escorted Aramis the first time entered the room. Anne looked up at him, her face carefully devoid of emotion.

The guard seemed contrite as he placed a pitcher of water and a small stack of cloths on the floor near Aramis’ feet. 

“I thought these might be of use.” The man let his eyes roam over the wounded man, and Anne saw something likened to respect flare in them for a moment. Perhaps not all of their captors were as hardened as they’d initially believed.

“Thank you,” she said. She rose from her position next to Aramis and turned to face the man, her head held high, her stance regal. “What is your name, Monsieur?”

The guard bowed nervously, his eyes moving from Aramis to the Queen standing before him. “I am called Brochard, Your Majesty.”

She could see that he was nervous in her presence, but she was used to having that kind of effect on the people who stood before her. She had always thought herself a good judge of character, and her instincts were telling her now that this man – this soldier – was not someone she need fear. It was obvious he was following his orders, but from what she could read on his face and see in his eyes, he was not a cruel man and felt remorse for what Aramis had suffered. He had, after all, brought provisions to help with Aramis’ wounds, and if he had nefarious intentions, she could detect no sense of them.

“Monsieur Brochard, I would like to move Aramis to the pallet where he would be more comfortable. Your assistance would be appreciated.” It was not so much a request as an order and Brochard responded as such. The soldier bowed stiffly and stepped around the wounded man, leaning down to grasp his arm. Aramis gasped and tried to suppress his discomfort as Brochard leveled him up, supporting him as he got his legs underneath him and pushed himself to his feet. Between the two of them they were able to move the wounded Musketeer to the pallet and lower him gently to the thin mattress. Once situated, Aramis opened his eyes and nodded his thanks to Brochard, who returned the gesture. Stepping back to allow the Queen to sit on the edge alongside the Musketeer, Brochard quietly took his leave.

“Aramis?” Anne frowned at the paleness of his face. His right arm was still clamped tightly around his ribs and she was alarmed at the panting of his breath. “Aramis? Speak to me.”

“I’m all right,” he said with a tight smile. “Just need to stop moving for a few moments.”

She reached down and dragged the pitcher closer, tipping some of the cool water onto one of the clean cloths. She placed the cool linen on his cheek, patting against the bruise already rising on his skin. He leaned into her touch, a soft sigh of contentment escaping his lips.

“Why is this happening?” she asked. She wasn’t really expecting an answer, so she was quite surprised when he opened his eyes and met hr gaze.

“He’s mad.”

“Who?”

“Savoy.” Aramis voice was hard, and she could detect a level of animosity she had never thought him capable of.

“Are you saying it was the Duke of Savoy himself who took us hostage?”

Aramis nodded, closing his eyes as the cloth moved to the swelling above his cheek. “He has some foolish idea of using you to force the King into submitting to an alliance with Lord Cromwell and forsaking the English Crown.”

Anne’s hand stilled and he opened his eyes to meet hers. “Louis would never turn from King Charles. That’s absurd.”

Aramis chuckled and winced. “That’s what I told him. He didn’t particularly like the answer.” As she moved the cloth to his split lip, his eyes closed again and he sank deeper into the mattress.

She smiled, relieved to see her ministrations bringing him some small comfort. He was still feverish and she glanced down at his leg, dismayed to see fresh blood on the bandage. She understood Victor’s disdain for his brother-in-law, but she could not comprehend what he thought he would gain by antagonizing the King. Surely he knew there would be swift retaliation – not only from France but from Spain as well as soon as her brother learned of the Duke’s treachery. He could not be fool enough to believe he could force Louis into turning his back on a monarchy that he considered family. 

She glanced down at Aramis, her mind trying to make sense of it all. Even if Victor believed he could use her against both her husband and her brother, what had he expected to gain from torturing Aramis? She remembered how the other Musketeers had shown such concern about Aramis being near Savoy and her mind began to connect the pieces of the puzzle.

“But there’s more,” she observed, her voice hesitant, unwilling to pry into matters that were obviously cause for distress. “There is something between you and the Duke you’re not telling me. Otherwise he would not have treated you so harshly.”

She could tell he was close to sleep, his face beginning to slacken as he succumbed to his body’s need for rest. “It was a long time ago,” he whispered. 

“The massacre,” she assumed. “The mission that cost twenty Musketeers their lives. I knew of it but not of the circumstances.”

Aramis turned his head away. “Twenty one lives,” he said. “I’m all that’s left.”

Anne’s heart stopped at his soft confession. “I… I didn’t know.” Her eyes wide, she felt a churning in her stomach. This was all her fault. She had made the decision to come to Savoy and it had been at her insistence Aramis and his friends had accompanied her. After losing so many of his comrades here, this place probably still haunted him and he had returned here for her. 

She couldn’t suppress a gasp. Sensing her sudden distress he rolled his head and looked at her, sorrow in his eyes.

“It’s not your fault, mon cherie. I would follow you to the ends of the earth, if only you asked.”

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears at what he’d endured; what he continued to endure because of her. “If I had known…”

He took her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it tenderly. “You would have still done your duty. As would I. It is who we are. We can’t change that.”

She swallowed, nodded, unable to form the words swirling in her head. His hand tightened over hers and he pulled her down to him. “Shhh, it’s all right.”

She laid her head on his chest, mindful of the discomfort he had shown. The heat from his body burned through his shirt and she shivered, knowing his suffering was her doing. “The Cardinal assured the King all had perished. I believed no one had survived.”

“The Cardinal’s truths were what he wanted them to be.”

“But why would he lie?”

“Because it was his manipulation to save the Duchess that caused the Duke to attack in the first place.” Aramis explained. “Treville told me everything. My friends gave their lives in the line of duty. I cannot sanction the Cardinal’s methods, but the desired results were obtained.”

Anne shook her head, her hair scratching along his beard. “I will never understand the politics nor the justifications men like the Cardinal use. The world is a better place without him.”

Aramis chuckled, running a hand along her hair. “Careful, Your Majesty. It’s not wise to speak ill of the dead.”

Anne sighed. “At least he can’t hurt anyone anymore.” 

“If only that were true.”

She wanted to ask him what he meant, but she could feel his breathing evening out and hear his heartbeat slow as he began to drift. She stayed, lying against him, hoping her presence would bring him some comfort. She closed her eyes and prayed, hoping d’Artagnan would return with help soon.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

They wasted little time assembling the ten men loyal to the Duchess, mounting up and making their way toward the old estate grounds with little fuss. The Duke was nowhere to be found, a detail Athos found both advantageous and vexing. When questioned of the Duke’s whereabouts, Savoy’s minister, Gauntard, had informed the Duchess her husband had been called away to handle an urgent matter. Although the Duke’s absence made it easier for them to prepare their forces, Athos couldn’t help but be concerned the ‘urgent matter’ Gauntard spoke of involved their missing friends.

The Duchess had seemed very adamant that Aramis’ connection with the incident six years ago be kept from the Duke for fear of his reprisal, and Athos couldn’t help but agree. When he had fought the man back in Paris, it was apparent the Duke still harbored a burning anger over what he believed was a plot to have him murdered. Understandable, if it were actually the case. Though Athos had no doubt the entire scheme had been the work of Cardinal Richelieu – and he couldn’t fault Savoy for protecting what was his – he would not allow anymore harm to come to Aramis because of it. The marksman had barely survived the political games of these men once, Athos would make damn sure he wasn’t offered up for sacrifice a second time.

D’Artagnan had insisted he be allowed to participate even though it was obvious the young Gascon was still less than fit. His face was pinched in pain, and Athos was certain his head still bothered him. But he was sitting his horse, shoulders square, a determined look on his face. Athos caught his eye and d’Artagnan managed a slight smile, enough of an assurance to the older musketeer that he would pull his weight no matter what resistance they found at the old estate. 

He only hoped they would be in time.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Aramis felt a stifling heat radiating off him, desperately wishing for a cool breeze to embrace the garrison. He tossed his head against the mattress, wondering when it had become so cloying in Paris. The last he remembered it was past summer, cool enough to cause a chill at night even in his leathers. He swallowed, moaning at the tightness of his throat.

A coolness swept over his face and he managed to wedge his eyes open, squinting up at the fuzzy image before him.

“Your fever is rising.”

He swallowed again and drew a long breath through his nose, his mind quickly catching up to the present. He wasn’t in Paris. He was in Savoy. The Queen had been kidnapped and he was her only protection against the Duke’s plan. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he was able to focus on the beautiful face leaning over him, fraught with worry.

“Do not concern yourself, Your Majesty. For you are better medicine than any physician could prescribe.”

Anne smiled, though the concern did not leave her eyes. “I’m afraid a surgeon would be more practical at the moment.” She ran the wet cloth in her hand over his cheek and down his neck. Aramis sighed with contentment.

“Perhaps, but I doubt the Duke would agree.”

“I will not let him harm you again.”

Aramis took her hand, bringing it to his lips. “The Duke is a dangerous man. I do not want you to take him lightly.”

“The Duke is a subject of France,” Anne insisted. “I am his Queen. He will listen to me.”

Aramis shook his head weakly. “I’m afraid he is too far gone for rational discussion. He believes his actions just.”

“He can’t blame you for some scheme of the Cardinal’s!”

“It was sanctioned by the King,” Aramis reminded her. “Louis was trying to protect the Duchess. I cannot fault him for his loyalty.”

Anne shook her head, distressed. “But all those men…”

“Were soldiers who knew the risks.” Aramis closed his eyes. Visions of that snowy forest flooded his mind, but, surprisingly, he realized it no longer pained him so. “As soldiers, we know that one day we may be called to give our lives for our country.” He opened his eyes and turned to her, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I don’t condone what happened, but I understand why it did. When I discovered the truth, I found I could make peace with it. I will always carry the memories of my brothers, but I will no longer mourn their deaths. They died honorably in a circumstance that was devoid of honor. A Musketeer can ask for no more.”

Anne wiped a tear that had trailed down her cheek. “You are truly a remarkable man, Aramis of the King’s Musketeers.”

He smiled. “I am but your humble servant, Your Majesty.”

She placed the back of her hand against his cheek, her brow furrowing as she felt the heat from his fever. “We must get you help.”

He swallowed again, squeezing the hand he held against his chest as he shifted on the thin mattress. The dull throb in his leg flared to life and his breath hitched as his ribs and back protested in kind. The ache in his head persisted, but dwarfed in comparison to the rest of his injuries.

He knew he was going to be of little use soon, and he reluctantly had to admit Anne was right. D’Artagnan hadn’t returned yet, and Aramis had no idea if the young man had even made it back to the forest. The Gascon had been injured, and even though he’d seemed fit enough to mount an escape, Aramis knew he couldn’t rely on d’Artagnan making it back to Athos and Porthos before the Duke grew weary of his own game.

The man wanted him dead. Why he hadn’t just finished the job was a mystery – one Aramis would rather not unravel. It was true; Musketeers don’t die easy, but if Savoy managed to kill him before the others were able to mount a rescue, it would leave the Queen alone and vulnerable. And that was something Aramis would not allow.

“You’re right.” He tensed as he forced himself up, allowing Anne to grasp his arm and assist him to a sitting position, his back against the cold stone wall. Once his breathing leveled and he was sure he could speak without passing out, he leaned his head back and gave her a grin. “How are your acting skills?”

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

They hid their horses in the trees and moved on foot to the edge of the forest near the old estate house. The fortress was in shambles, half of the building caved in upon itself, but the parts still intact looked formidable. D’Artagnan pointed out the high window in the center of the wall, letting his comrades know it was the room they had all been held in. He prayed the Duke had not seen fit to move them since.

“There’s no way Aramis can make it down from that height,” d’Artagnan informed them. “His wound is probably infected already. There’s no way he’d survive that drop.”

“We can’t expect the Queen to attempt it, either,” Porthos observed.

Athos shook his head in agreement. “No. We’ll have to go in from the main entrance. They aren’t expecting us, so a frontal attack should still be unanticipated.”

“And we have Aramis on the inside.” 

Porthos’ voice sounded confident of their friend’s ability to fight, but d’Artagnan remembered how weak the marksman had been and couldn’t summon the same certainty.

“Aramis may be in no condition to help at all.”

He watched as his two comrades shared a look of conviction.

“Do not make the mistake of selling Aramis short, d’Artagnan.” Athos grinned knowingly. “The charming countenance he presents hides a man quite capable of subterfuge when need calls.”

Porthos huffed a laugh. “It hides a lot more than that.”

Athos nodded in reply, the confidence in his voice enough to temper the Gascon’s uncertainty. “Aramis will be ready. We simply need to give him a signal.”

“I could climb back up,” the younger man offered. “Let him know we’re here and to be ready.”

Athos turned his attention to the window and the stone wall below it. The uneven pattern of the rocks made for numerous hand and footholds making the climb feasible. He looked to Porthos for his assessment.

The big man shrugged. “Help wouldn’t be much good behind a locked door.” He nodded toward the window further down the side of the building. “But I’m guessing they wouldn’t be expectin’ anyone to come from the room next door. We could get in there and take out any guards in the hall. With a few extra swords from the rear, it would make your attack from the front more effective.”

Athos considered the plan, knowing Porthos meant to add his sword to the rear assault as well.

“Very well. Make sure you are not seen. It’s imperative to maintain the element of surprise for as long as possible.”

Porthos pulled his main gauche and grinned. “Aramis isn’t the only one capable of subterfuge.”

Athos patted him on the shoulder. “As well I know. Be careful, my friends.”

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Anne pounded on the door of their prison, screaming for the guards. 

“Help! I think he’s dead! Someone! Help!”

She looked to Aramis and grinned, the rush of excitement seeping through her body. Raised as royalty, she’d been taught from an early age how to hide her true emotions and show the world the countenance expected from someone of her station, so she was quite adept at portraying a role not entirely accurate. But she’d never been part of an escape before -- unless you counted the time Cardinal Richelieu sent agents to murder her. Even then she was not directly involved in her own defense, protected by the Musketeers as well as the nuns of the convent, so this was a particularly new type of thrill.

She supposed she should be frightened; once again finding her life in jeopardy, but she found herself strangely aroused and excited by the danger of it all. She could understand why Aramis was drawn to this type of life. It was exhilarating and made her feel… alive. Her sedate life of privilege and indulgence in the palace was tedious in comparison with the thrill that now hummed through her body. Her heart beat hard against her chest and her breathing came in shallow bursts, anticipation making her tense.

Rapid footsteps grew louder, stopping just outside the door. She stepped back, her eyes darting from the entrance to Aramis and back again. She swallowed, knowing she couldn’t look at the Musketeer and keep her composure for long. He was still on the pallet, slumped against the wall, looking as if his body had just given out, his head hanging low over his chest. His breathing was barely discernable, and if she hadn’t known it was a ruse, she would believe him dead. She found herself fearing for him just the same.

Anne was under no delusion their plan was a good one, but it was all they had. Aramis was fading quickly and while waiting for d’Artagnan to return with Athos and Porthos would have been a more promising strategy, she knew Aramis felt the need to act before he was incapable of protecting her at all. 

There was the sound of the key scraping against the lock and the door burst open. The same guard who had come to escort Aramis to the Duke earlier bolted into the room, his eyes quickly taking in the tableau. 

“What is wrong, You Majesty?”

Despite the circumstances, Anne felt a stir of satisfaction that he still addressed her as such.

Heaving a breath, she let her real worry show in her eyes and pointed to Aramis, unmoving on the pallet.

“It is the Musketeer. I don’t think he’s breathing.” She pitched her voice high, making sure to play up her distress. While she normally suppressed her emotions, always taught to remain impassive and regal, now she allowed her true fear to surface, letting her concern for Aramis wash over her, lending credibility to her performance.

The guard took another step into the room, his attention shifting to the motionless man on the mattress. As Anne moved back, the guard cautiously made his way to the pallet, his eyes narrowing as he studied Aramis. He stopped directly in front of the pallet and leaned down, his hand reaching forward to check the wounded man’s condition.

Without warning, Aramis’ eyes opened and his right arm swing at the guard, the metal water pitcher grasped tightly in his hand. There was a loud clang as the pitcher made contact with the guard’s head and the man dropped like a stone, legs and arms limp as he fell unconscious to the floor.

Aramis’ harsh breathing was the only sound in the room as both he and Anne stared at the downed guard.

“I can’t believe that worked,” he gasped after a few stunned moments of silence. He shifted his astonished gaze to her.

Anne laughed giddily, her eyes wide. “My hero.”

Aramis grinned briefly before nodding his head toward the partially open entrance. “The door!” 

Aramis’ order had her moving quickly, slamming the door shut and leaning against it. She turned to see Aramis painfully push himself off the bed and kneel at the guard’s side. He quickly divested the man of his weapons, shoving the harquebus into the front of his breeches and pulling the sword from its sheath. He stood, swaying slightly and turned to Anne, fever bright eyes dancing with mirth.

“The Duke’s hospitality leaves much to be desired, Your Majesty. I believe it is time to take our leave.”

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Brochard forced himself to lie still, feigning unconsciousness as the prisoners quietly made their way out of the room. He wasn’t sure what the Musketeer had been planning, though he had expected him to make some kind of escape attempt while he was still able. What was truly a surprise was his own sudden decision to allow it to succeed. While his head ached from being struck, due to the Musketeer’s weakened condition, the blow had not been nearly powerful enough render him unconscious. But, as he recognized the ruse, he found himself wanting them to be successful.

His loyalty was to the Duke – that was not in question – but he was also a man of honor, and in that moment, he made the decision to act with honor. 

Brochard had never condoned the threat to the Queen, and his respect for the Musketeer, knowing he had survived the attack all those years ago, had only increased at the courage and spirit the man had shown under the Duke’s particular brand of inquiry. He had felt something akin to respect for the man, his resolve to give everything to fulfill his duty to protect the Queen commanding reverence even though they were deemed enemies.

It was a strange feeling to have more veneration for your enemy than the man you had vowed to follow, and it was this feeling that had caused him to allow his own silent accord to their plan. He knew their escape would still be hard fought, but at least they had the chance, and Brochard found himself praying for their success. He raised his head as the staccato footsteps began to recede down the hallway and smiled, knowing in his heart he had done the right thing.

“God speed, Musketeer.”

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

 

The climb up turned out to be much easier than the drop down in d’Artagnan’s estimate. The protruding rocks and mortar providing numerous handholds and adrenaline provided the necessary strength to take advantage of them. They’d only encountered one guard on this side of the building who had been quickly and quietly taken out by one of Porthos’ muscular arms around his neck. D’Artagnan had no idea if the older Musketeer had killed the guard or simply rendered him unconscious and, under the circumstances, couldn’t find it in himself to care. After all, these men had been party to the kidnapping of the Queen and responsible for Aramis’ pain. As far as he was concerned, their fate had been decided the moment they attacked on the road.

Knowing Porthos was right behind him, d’Artagnan pulled himself the last arm length to the window and pushed against the shutters, relieved when they gave easily. Apparently they’d only shored up the window in the room intended for the prisoners, not expecting anyone to gain access through the other rooms.

Once Porthos dropped to the floor beside him, he looked around, noting the dilapidated state of the large room. The broken remains of a chair lay near the far wall, tilted precariously against a scarred scrap of dark wood that could have once been a headboard for a large bed, but the room itself had been stripped of any signs of habitation save for the pile of material obviously serving as a home for rodents who’d taken refuge in the abandoned estate.

“The Duke needs a new decorator.” Porthos observed.

D’Artagnan huffed a laugh and pushed himself off the floor, hurrying to the partially open door. He slowly opened it, peeking out into the hallway before turning back to Porthos.

“Looks clear.”

Quietly they made their way out into the corridor, stepping lightly, trying to keep their boots from making too much sound against the hard floor. The door to the adjoining room stood partially open, and the Musketeers exchanged a look of concern, both pulling their daggers in deference to their pistols, hoping to keep their presence concealed until they assessed the situation.

A quick peek inside showed the room as empty as the one next door. They quietly pushed inside, taking a moment to let their eyes take in the signs of their friends’ captivity. D’Artagnan crossed to the small pallet and reached down, retrieving a bloodstained piece of cloth. He held it up for Porthos’ inspection, proof their friends had only recently been removed.

“Do you think the Duke has them?” The rumpled mattress on the pallet indicated someone had laid on it recently. A few other damp and stained cloths lay strewn about. Porthos moved into the room and bent to pick up a dented metal pitcher from the floor. 

He chuckled, recognizing the innocent looking container for the weapon it was. “More likely they managed to surprise a guard and made an attempt to escape.” 

D’Artagnan returned the grin. “Subterfuge?”

“More like desperation.” Porthos shook his head fondly, pride for his friend’s resilience dancing in his eyes. “You didn’t think Aramis would just lie around waiting to be rescued like some damsel in distress, did ya?”

D’Artagnan snorted a laugh. “No, I suppose not.” He sobered, remembering the marksman’s condition. “But I doubt he’ll get far. He was in a bad way, Porthos.”

The big man nodded grimly. “Then we best find ‘em and give ‘em a hand.”

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Athos tensed, watching from his concealed position as Porthos and d’Artagnan disappeared through the window high on the wall of the estate house. Taking a deep breath, he slowly counted to ten, giving his friends a few moments to get into position before nodding to the Duchess’ lieutenant and leading them around the house to the front corner. From there they could see the four men guarding the front entrance. There were horses tethered near the front, but no sign of the Duke. They had no idea just how many men Savoy had inside, and Athos hoped the small force they had been able to garner would be enough to quickly and quietly overpower the Duke’s guards. 

With a silent hand signal to his soldiers, Athos crept around the edge of the house, keeping his back to the wall, sword at the ready. None of the guards were looking their way and they were able to approach undetected, striking fast and hard. The first two went down without a sound, but one of the others was able to get a shout off before he was run straight through his chest with a rapier. Athos cringed, never happy at the loss of life.

Flanking both sides of the entrance, Athos took a deep breath, knowing the men were awaiting his command to move. He could hear no movement inside, but he had faith Porthos and d’Artagnan would do whatever necessary to protect Aramis and the Queen from harm should the fight to free them turn. 

With a grim nod to his lieutenant, Athos forged through the opening.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Aramis paused at the end of the long hallway, his left arm back, pressing Anne against the wall of the corridor. They had seen no other guards except the one they had escaped from, and Aramis was still shocked the ploy had worked at all. He knew his blow was a glancing one at best, so he’d been quite stunned when the man had dropped, unconscious to the floor. Never one to deny chance no matter how unfeasible, he’d seized the opportunity and headed into the unknown, praying he still had the strength to fight and give Anne the chance to escape.

He felt the sweat drip down his back and shivered as a chill passed through him despite the heat of his skin. He knew he was fading fast. The fever had taken hold and his breathing had become labored, gasps sending bolts of pain from his ribs, accompanying each lick of fire that burst from his wounded leg. His head was spinning as he leaned it back against the cool stone of the wall and he breathed through his nose, attempting to quell the sudden dizziness that assaulted him. Anne’s grip was firm on his arm, as much a support as an entreaty, her quiet presence a reminder of what was at stake, what his duty entailed, and why he could not fail.

He would allow no harm to come to her. Her son needed her – their son needed her. France needed her wisdom and Louis would be lost without her serene grace. As much as he would like to believe she could be his, he knew it would never be. She was the Queen of France, and her life was not her own. A small piece of her heart would always belong to him – or though he had convinced himself – but his duty was to see her safe on the throne and his life was a small price to pay to see it fulfilled. 

“Aramis?”

Her soft voice broke through his misery and he swallowed his pain, attempting to smile assuredly.

“I am merely resting, Your Majesty.” 

He felt her cool hand on his cheek and leaned into it, sighing as the softness of her skin soothed some of the ache inside him.

“You’re far too hot,” she remarked, concern coloring her voice. “Perhaps we should wait for d’Artagnan after all?”

She posed it as a question, and Aramis shook his head, forcing his eyes opened, catching hers.

“I shall do all I can to keep you safe, my queen.”

She smiled tremulously, a tear sliding down her cheek. “Of that I have no doubt.”

He reached up and grasped the hand against his cheek, squeezing gently. “Then I ask for your trust, Your Majesty. I have no intention of allowing harm to come to you.”

“You always have my trust, Aramis. My life is forever in your hands. It is your life I fear for now.”

He pulled her hand to his lips. “I’m not ready to die just yet.”

She returned his smile, nodding, love and pride shining in her eyes. “Because you are a brave Musketeer,” she said knowingly.

He shook his head. “Because I am yours.”

She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against his shoulder, overcome with emotion. 

The hallway ended at a narrow staircase, no doubt leading to the main floor of the estate house. A sudden noise from below echoed up the stairs, causing him to tense, his senses alert, his sword raised and at the ready. Pushing Anne back further, he took a step forward, biting back a moan as his leg threatened to collapse beneath him. Pressing a shoulder into the wall, he looked up as hurried footsteps climbed the steps. Aramis’ breath caught in his throat as the imposing figure of the Duke of Savoy stepped onto the landing.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Athos ducked as a sword was thrust toward his neck, barely able to avoid the blade. The Duke’s men fought well, despite the abruptness of the attack and the unequal numbers. He pivoted and pushed forward, parrying another thrust, his main gauche finding a target, sinking into the warm flesh of his opponent. The Duchess’ well trained men quickly dispatched the guards present in the main entrance of the estate house. Athos scanned the room, noting the Duke was not among the fallen.

A clash of blades, followed by a scream wafted through the corridor, and his eyes focused on the stairwell at the far end of the room.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Porthos led them back into the hallway, his head swiveling, eyes peering down one direction then the other. There was no way to ascertain which way Aramis would’ve gone, either direction leading to connecting hallways with no way of knowing where they ended. He squared his shoulders and closed his eyes, listening for any indication as to which way to go.

“We could split up,” d’Artagnan suggested, recognizing their dilemma.

Porthos opened his eyes and shook his head. “No. We stick together. We’re of no use to Aramis if we get separated and taken prisoner ourselves.” His took a deep breath, his eyes dropping to the floor, narrowing as a dark drop of blood caught his attention. His gaze followed the drop, finding another and another, smiling grimly as he recognized it for the trail it was.

“This way,” he said with a grunt. He took off to the left, d’Artagnan following without question.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Savoy smiled, his eyes hard, a glint of madness shining in the low light of the hallway. He raised his sword menacingly, dropping his shoulder into a formidable stance. “You are a man of many surprises, Musketeer.”

“More than you know.”

The Duke’s eyes flicked to Anne, noting her grip on Aramis’ arm before returning his gaze to the marksman, his grin sordid. “I can see that.” He bowed his head to the Queen. “I’m sorry you had to be a party to this, Your Majesty, but you were a means to an end.”

“Lower your sword at once, Victor,” Anne said forcefully. “There is no sense in continuing the farce. I will solicit the King to show you mercy for the sake of your wife and sons.”

Savoy laughed disdainfully. “As much as I love my dear wife, I’ve known for quite some time where her loyalties lie. Having her here, tied to me was the one secret pleasure I could hold over that imbecile husband of yours.”

Anne gasped at his words. 

“Don’t act so surprised.” The Duke moved to his right, his eyes on Aramis, noting the pain that showed on the wounded man’s face. “I’m not as much a fool as Louis believes. I know Cluzette still languishes inside a Paris prison, and I will one day prove the Cardinal’s duplicity in the matter. Until then, I will have to suffice in knowing I was able to defeat the King’s elite Musketeers from impugning my honor with nary a scratch once again. I’m sure the loss all those years ago pained His Majesty, did it not? Or did he give it no more consideration than losing one of his hunting dogs?”

Aramis growled deep in his throat, not wanting to give the Duke the pleasure of witnessing his torment at the memory. “You murdered good men in their sleep. There was no honor in such a victory.”

“I suppose it is all in your perspective.”

“Let us pass,” Anne ordered, fear apparent in her voice.

The Duke snorted in amusement. “This is Savoy, Your Majesty. You do not rule here.”

He lunged forward, knocking his blade against Aramis’, forcing the wounded man to shift his weight onto his bad leg, off balance. It took every ounce of energy the Musketeer had to defend himself from the powerful thrust. Anne screamed his name as he faltered momentarily, the panic in her voice lending him strength.

The sounds of fighting from below began to echo up the stairwell. 

“Your men will not be able to stand against Musketeers fully ready for battle,” Aramis taunted, praying it was Athos leading the charge below. He knew his friends would not have been able to summon reinforcements from Paris in such a short time, but they were resourceful and he had no doubt they would be able to amass a force equal -- if not superior -- to the Duke’s. “You will die for your deceit.”

“If I die, be that I take you with me.”

Aramis’ blood ran like ice through his veins. He pushed aside the weakness of his body, forcing his hand to steady, his focus completely on the man before him. The Duke may have the advantage in strength at the moment, but Aramis was a Musketeer, and he drew upon his training and experience to staunch the dread this man invoked within him. “You tried that once. You will no more succeed now than you did then.” Aramis circled to his right, drawing the Duke away from Anne, toward the open landing of the stairwell. He raised his sword, putting all his effort into keeping it from trembling.

Savoy’s face clouded in disbelief, his voice mocking. “Your bravery recommends you, Musketeer, but wounded and feverish, you are no match for my sword.”

“Then perhaps you’ll want to try me.”

Savoy turned abruptly at the new voice to find Porthos, standing tall a few arms lengths away, his eyes dark with anger, schianova at the ready, steady and true.

Aramis felt relief crash through him at the sight of his friend. He gave Porthos a welcoming nod, smiling as one side of the larger man’s mouth quirked in return. D’Artagnan quietly moved from behind Porthos toward the Queen, quickly taking her arm and leading her to safety further down the hallway. Aramis was pleased to see the Gascon well despite his harrowing experience. 

“Or perhaps you would care for a rematch?”

Aramis’ smile widened feeling Athos brush against him as the older Musketeer stepped up onto the landing. Savoy’s head swiveled, his brows furrowing in rage, his breath huffing from his nose. Athos took two steps forward, deftly positioning himself between the Duke and his wounded comrade, his eyes cold, his rapier threatening.

“I gave your wife my word we would attempt to take you alive,” Athos informed him. “The choice is yours.”

The sounds of fighting downstairs ceased, the Duke’s men defeated, the only noise in the hallway the harsh rasp of Aramis’ breathing.

Finally Savoy lowered his weapon, his eyes narrowing as he glared past Athos at the wounded Musketeer. “I will see you dead.”

“Perhaps,” Aramis conceded, not allowing the Duke to see how much that thought disturbed him. “But not today.”

Porthos moved, yanking the sword from the nobleman’s hand, tossing it back down the hallway, the clanking of steel on stone echoing off the walls. Sheathing his own weapon, he gave the Duke a push, nearly knocking the man from his feet. “Get moving, Your Grace.” He didn’t hide his contempt at the title, latching a meaty paw on the Duke’s shoulder, steering him past Athos and Aramis and down the stairs. As he passed his friend, Porthos allowed his other hand to pat him softly on the stomach. Aramis let his eyes close in contentment at the touch. 

As soon as the Duke was out of sight, Athos turned to Aramis, one brow raised, and calmly assessed the younger man’s condition.

“You’ve looked better.”

Aramis huffed a laugh and hunched his shoulders, wrapping an arm around his chest as his aches began to protest in earnest.

Athos directed his attention to the Queen as she made her way toward them, accompanied by d’Artagnan.

“Are you well, Your Majesty?”

“I am unharmed,” Anne assured him, her eyes showing her relief. “Thank you for your timely rescue, Athos.”

“I had it all in hand,” Aramis mumbled indignantly.

She smiled, moving to his other side and laying a hand on his arm. “I have no doubt you would have been victorious, Aramis.” She let her eyes roam his body, her brows high, pointedly noting the bloodstained rag on his leg and the pained hunch of his shoulders. “Still, it is fortuitous your friends saw fit to assist.”

Aramis grunted as he tried to put pressure on his leg, reaching out and grasping Athos shoulder for support as his strength began to wane. “I suppose a bit of help was not unwarranted.” He glanced up at Athos and smiled wearily. “You have my undying gratitude.”

Athos nodded, a fond look in his eyes. “The undying part is appreciated.” He shifted subtly so that he was taking more of the wounded man’s weight. “Can you walk?”

“Not gracefully.”

“I’ll pretend not to notice.”

Anne giggled at the men’s banter and squeezed Aramis’ arm. “His fever has been rising,” she reminded them. “I believe the sooner we have a physician look at the wound, the sooner he will be back to his normal charming self.”

Athos leaned forward to catch her eye. “Is that supposed to be encouraging?”

She laughed. “One would assume.”

“Are you comin’ down or do you need someone to carry ‘im?”

They all chuckled as Porthos’ voice echoed up the stairwell.

“I suppose we should get moving before Porthos grows impatient.” D’Artagnan suggested.

Aramis took a deep breath, steeling himself for the pain he knew was to come. He draped his arm over Athos’ shoulder and felt the older man wrap an arm around his waist. “Then let’s not keep the man waiting.”

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

The Duchess of Savoy would not speak to her husband when they returned to the estate, instead, asking her lieutenant to escort him to a room in the far wing and make sure he stayed there until further notice. While the lieutenant was reluctant to take charge of the Duke, he followed his orders, a few of his men trailing behind.

“We will escort him to Paris as soon as Aramis is able to ride,” Athos assured her. He was hesitant to trust her where her husband was concerned, knowing she loved him despite her loyalty to Louis and France, but he of all people knew what it meant to condemn someone you once loved and he couldn’t help wanting to ease her burden considering her delicate condition.

“My brother will be very angry,” the Duchess sighed. “There is little love between Victor and the King.”

Aramis had explained the Duke’s plan briefly before being taken under the care of the Duchess’ physician. Athos had been mildly impressed with the scope of the man’s schemes, and more than thankful the plot had not come to fruition. To court harm upon the Queen to cause political upheaval was eerily reminiscent of Cardinal Richelieu and Athos would not condone such underhandedness again. The Comte de Rochefort’s influence over Louis was proving to be enough of a challenge to Treville and the Musketeers at the moment, another hand stirring the pot would only prove disastrous.

“I’m afraid His Majesty will not look favorably upon your husband’s dealings with Cornwall. And the threat to the Queen can only be construed as treason.”

The Duchess shook her head sadly. “I will speak to Louis on Victor’s behalf, but I will abide by his decision.” She looked up at him, her eyes filled with regret. “There is no excuse for the suffering he has brought to Anne nor your friend. I want you to know I do not condone his actions.”

Athos nodded, convinced of her sincerity. “I have sent word to Paris. An escort will be dispatched immediately. I will attempt to persuade the King to delay a decision until your child has arrived and you are able to stand at your husband’s side. – although it may be difficult.”

She smiled. “I would be most grateful for the attempt, Monsieur.”

They had been conversing in the foyer, awaiting word on Aramis’ condition and both turned as the door near them opened and Anne stepped out to join them.

The Duchess immediately went to her sister-in-law and embraced her. “I am so very sorry for all you have been through, my sister.” She stepped back, holding the Queen at arm’s length, her expression stricken. “If I had but known –“

“Do not fret,” Anne gave her a smile. “I am unharmed and Aramis will be fine.” She turned to nod assuredly to Athos. “The ball was removed safely and the physician says the infection is under control.” She tilted her head toward the still open doorway. “D’Artagnan and Porthos are already inside waiting for you.”

Athos nodded cordially to both women and excused himself to join his brothers.

“Are you truly all right?” Christine inquired as soon as they were alone. “I couldn’t bear to think anything had happened to you on my account.”

Anne took her hands, holding them between them. “I am fine. I assure you.”

“And your Musketeer?”

Anne took a deep breath, her smile faltering. “Aramis… he is brave and loyal. He has suffered much in the service of the King, but he has always come out the better for it.”

“Athos informed me he survived the assault that secured my safety all those years ago. I owe him my thanks at the very least.”

Anne nodded and squeezed her sister’s hands. “We both owe him much more than that. But he will not accept it for having done his duty.” She took a deep breath and wrapped an arm around the pregnant woman. “Come, you need your rest. And I want to hear all about this little one.”

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm 

Athos slipped into the room, quietly closing the door behind him. Aramis was lying on the large bed, propped up by a small mountain of ornate pillows, his leg bandaged and elevated. His eyes were closed and his face was pale, but he seemed relaxed, breathing easily.

D’Artangan leaned against the far wall, arms wrapped around his torso, his gaze trained out the window. Porthos sat at the foot of the bed, relaxed against the dark wooden footboard, his hand wrapped around Aramis’ ankle. Both men shifted their gaze to him as he quietly stepped toward the bed.

“Will he live?” Athos asked dryly.

Porthos chuckled, “He’ll live, but he may never dance again.”

“Give me a week and I’ll be as graceful as ever.” Three sets of eyes moved to the wounded man. Athos smiled as he approached, relieved to see Aramis’ eyes open and lucid despite the fine sheen of sweat upon his brow. He laid a hand across his friend’s forehead, pleased at only finding a slight warmth radiating from his skin.

Aramis shifted, looking down at his leg, a frown marring his face.

“Are you in pain?” Athos asked, concerned.

Aramis shook his head. “Nothing I can’t handle.” He reached down and rubbed at the spot just above the bandage. “The Duchess’ physician has little experience with battle wounds. This will probably scar.”

Porthos grinned. “Wasn’t it you who said every scar tells a story that will captivate a woman’s heart?”

“It was, but I was speaking more for your benefit, my dear Porthos. I am quite capable of captivating hearts without injury.” He gave his friend a cheeky smile, sinking back into the pillows with a sigh.

“I have sent word to Paris, asking for an escort for the Duke.”

Aramis opened his eyes and gazed at his friend in confusion. “I assure you, Athos, with a day’s rest I will be more than capable –“

Athos held up a hand, halting the marksman’s words. “You have suffered quite enough at the hands of the Duke, Aramis. I would not see you suffer more. Treville will send a detachment. Our mission is to see the Queen returned safely.” He had no doubt Aramis would perform his duty with honor if so ordered, but Athos was loathe to allow his friend to be subjected to the Duke’s presence for one more moment. It may be over protective and improper for him to make the decision without Aramis’ consent, but he held his friend’s gaze, raising an eyebrow, daring him to argue.

Porthos squeezed his friend’s ankle. “Let it go, Aramis.”

Aramis took a deep breath and nodded, a soft grin lifting his lips. “Perhaps it would be for the best.”

Athos relaxed at the marksman’s easy capitulation. “Good. Have you spoken with the physician about how long you must remain immobile?”

Before Aramis could respond, Porthos spoke. “A day or two at least. And then there’s no way he will be able to sit a horse for at least a week.”

Aramis rolled his eyes. “As I said, the physician lacks experience other than illnesses and birthing babies. I will be fine by tomorrow.” He shifted his leg, unable to contain the wince the movement elicited.

“We will obtain a coach from the Duchess,” Athos decided. “We will await the escort, and return to Paris when they arrive.”

“That could be days!” Aramis objected.

Athos shrugged. “Possibly. I’m sure the Queen will appreciate the time with the Duchess.”

“And what are we to do in the meantime?”

“You will rest,” Athos replied, the command in his voice unmistakable. “The rest of us…” he looked to Porthos and d’Artagnan who had joined them near the bed. “Savoy seems a lovely place and the Duchess has offered us the run of the palace. I’m sure we can find something to amuse ourselves.”

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

The escort arrived in four days time, finding Aramis, restless from his forced immobility, eager to be on their way. He’d never been able to lie around for more than a short period of time, and it seemed their proximity to the location of the massacre that still haunted his dreams was exacerbating his normal impatience, raising the ghosts he had been trying for so many years to lay to rest. He could only hope distance from this place would once again ease his mind, allowing him the respite his aching body so sorely needed. Although he did his best to hide his growing distress, he knew the others had noticed his increased anxiety and had taken it upon themselves to make sure he’d never been left alone throughout his convalescence. Anne had spent time with him also, her visits being a balm to his soul, but even her presence was beginning to lack effect and he was never so glad to leave a place as he was Savoy.

The Duchess, still heavy with child, assured Anne she would be fine until her time came and would be in Paris as soon as she and the baby were able to travel. The Queen, knowing how much the Duke’s treachery had hurt Christine, promised to do all she could to make Louis delay the trial, assuring her the Duke would be treated well despite the severity of his crimes.

The Duke of Savoy was loaded into a carriage, two of the Duchess’ men and four more Musketeers riding guard alongside. At Athos’ request, a second carriage was provided for the Queen who insisted Aramis ride with her, not believing he was fit to sit a horse considering his wounds. It was a decision that made Aramis smile, but one that made Athos brows rise in concern.

As Aramis limped to the carriage, the older Musketeer grasped his arm, stopping his ascent into the coach.

“I believe this to be a bad idea,” he said quietly, not wanting the others to hear his objection, reticent to reveal the basis for his displeasure.

Aramis just smiled, pulling his hat from his head and patting it against Athos chest. “Dear Athos, you worry too much. Besides, how can we argue with the Queen?” The expression of wide-eyed innocence on his face would have been comforting coming from anyone else. Aramis grinned as he pulled himself into the carriage and settled in beside Anne.

Athos had no choice but to step back, allowing the door to close. He sighed, shaking his head. “His normal charming self…” he echoed the Queen’s words from days before, “will be the death of us all.”

Fin

So that is about as close to romance as I can get. Not exactly a huge ship story, but enough to give you a little smile, I hope. At least Sharlot is happy now and I can write move on with my intrigue and whump in the next story. ☺ I would love to hear your comments! Thanks so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed. - Sue


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